An Execrable Business
by geekmama
Summary: Young Captain Jack Sparrow's encounter with a most unusual pickpocket leads to an adventure that begs the question: Pirate? Or good man?
1. Tortuga

_This started out as a reply to the 'Tortuga' drabble challenge at Black Pearl Sails, but is rapidly outgrowing the format suitable for my 'Drabbles of the Caribbean' so I'm moving it here, as a new story. Still using up those drabble prompts, though. It's also posted on my Live Journal. I owe my deepest appreciation to Hereswith, the best of beta readers, and to all you who read and review, many thanks!_

* * *

_**~ An Execrable Business ~**_

A sly hand slid into the pocket but, instead of the usual reward of purse and coin, the victim swirled 'round and changed to victor, strong fingers gripping the errant wrist.

"What's this?" Triumphant eyes narrowed, and the gravelly, rum-slurred voice said, accusingly, "You're a _girl!_"

"Am not!"

"Are."

"_Not!_ Let me _go!_"

"Not likely."

The other wrist was caught and the thief jerked roughly into the shadows and slammed against a wall. The eyes raked, and a curl of lip was seen, with a glint of gold. "Overmuch whimpering and squirming for _not-a-girl_."

The squirming ceased, with some effort. "I do not whimper!"

"Oh, no. Nor blub, neither, I daresay."

There was an awkward pause; a lower lip was bitten, and a trembling chin firmed. "Wh-what are you going to do?"

The painful hold eased slightly. "Rather depends on your candor, or lack thereof, don't it? For example, if you was to tell me how a gently bred lass ends up picking pockets in a Tortuga alley – most execrable in circumstance, intent, _and_ execution – I might be persuaded not to hand you over to the authorities."

"Gently bred? I—"

"The low accent needs work, darlin'."

"Oh."

"_Oh_. "

**TBC…**


	2. Happiness

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued...**_

She was sufficiently grubby for a street urchin, but the pretty, kittenish face was dead pale under the soot, save for a spot of chagrinned color, and the wide eyes held a look Jack recognized. "S'pose you're hungry."

A beat of surprise. Then, "Yes."

"_Don't_ try to run." He let her go, and watched as she straightened and, eyes downcast, rubbed her sore wrists. She bit her lip again. He said quickly, "We'll go to Whitby House for some victuals and chat. Come along."

She trudged beside him obediently enough, slogging along in silence through the raucous, muddy streets, his hand on her shoulder or tug at her coat sleeve all that was needed to direct her and remind her who was in charge. It wasn't long before they left the waterfront behind and entered the better part of the town, where the streets were less muddy and the inn lay, trim and welcoming.

At the sight of it, she halted in her tracks. "I can't go in like this."

Jack saw her point. Whitby House was the newest and best hostelry in Tortuga, built by Robert Whitby for his bride Martha, using his prize money from the lucky sack of a Spanish treasure ship. Robert was a less than exemplary husband in some respects, being a sailor and a pirate, and ill-tempered besides. But the construction of Whitby House had done much to reconcile young Martha, scion of innkeepers, to her lot, and she was exceedingly happy and proficient in its management. Jack had to admit that the present condition of his companion was a painful contrast to the inn's neat, white-washed façade, green painted door, and shining tile roof. "Come round the back. We'll clean you up a bit. I happen to know the proprietress. She won't mind."

**TBC…**


	3. Festive

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued…**_

Jack was right about Martha Whitby. In fact, having gone out to the small back garden for a bit of air, Martha was most happy to see the visitors come through the gate, well lit by moonlight.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, as I live and breathe!" she exclaimed, and smiled to see the smug grin of satisfaction. Jack had taken command of the _Black Pearl_ two years back, when John Tobias had passed, God rest his soul, and was very young to be the captain of a pirate ship, with such a sweet face under his flash accoutrements that folk were apt to forget his well-deserved title. Well-deserved it was, though. Even Robert said Jack was a pirate's pirate, canny, courageous, and full of the devil. And a lady's man, too!

"Martha, my love!" he said in that voice that told you he truly meant it, at least at that moment. "Do I detect a certain glow about you?"

Martha chuckled. "Aye, and a certain thickening of the waist, too, you rogue, though I didn't think it was quite that noticeable just yet."

"Only to one who's _very_ familiar with your assets."

Martha pursed her lips. "For shame, Jack! What a thing to say, and me in a delicate condition. I've never played Robert false, not even with you."

"A thousand pardons," he said and, putting his hands together, he bowed contritely. "Robert is the most fortunate of men."

"Get on with you! Not that it isn't true, think on. But who's this lad? A squeaker off the _Pearl_?" She eyed Jack's young companion with sudden interest. A very pretty lad – pretty as Jack, which was saying something. If she hadn't known Jack was a lady's man…

"No. Acquaintance of mine is all, in need of a wash before partaking of one of your fabulous meals, if you'd be so kind."

"Of course! Lord, it'll be grand as a holiday, having you to supper again. When I think of some of those evenings, when Tobias was still alive!"

A shadow touched Jack's mobile countenance, but he smiled, too. "Nothing to beat 'em," he agreed.

"Ah. You miss him that much," Martha said, deeply sympathetic. "Well, well. We were privileged to know him and that's the truth. But come! You just wait here and I'll go fetch a cloth and towel for this youngster." And Martha took herself off to the pantry.

**TBC…**


	4. Last Minute

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued…**_

Jack turned to his 'acquaintance'. "What's your name?"

"Nell. I mean, Helen. Smith."

"Smith, eh?" Jack sniffed. "I'm a Smith, too, from time to time. When it's expedient."

Nell flushed, but said, "Are you really a ship's captain?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow of the _Black Pearl_, though not particularly at your service." He made an ironical little bow.

"But you are!" she said, unsteadily. "I mean… anyone else would have beaten me, or had me arrested. I am greatly in your debt."

"I may still beat you, you never know," Jack said, somewhat testily. "What the devil's brought you to such a pass, Smith? It had better be Smith for now, by the way – Martha might take it into her head that my intentions are less than pure were she to know you're a female."

"Yes, very well. But… it's a long story. May I tell you over dinner?"

Jack's lips twitched at the hopeful, almost wheedling tone. "All right. Miscreant brat."

To his surprise she smiled up at him for the first time. "My grandmother used to call me that."

He gave a bark of laughter at this fond recollection. "Did she?" He looked her over again. "How old are you, Smith? I want the truth now."

"Almost eighteen," she stated, standing very straight.

She barely reached his chin. "'Almost'? What does that mean, precisely?"

"Well… next September."

"Five months! That ain't 'almost'."

"It's… I… there are certain people who feel it's old enough to _marry!_" she said, rather bitterly.

This was food for thought, a veritable banquet, but Jack was prevented from commenting by the reappearance of their hostess.

"Here you are, and you had best hurry!" Martha said, carefully descending the steps. "I didn't realize it had got so late! Sally's setting a table for you and I've saved out the last of the stew and bread, and there's a fruit pie for after, if you're so inclined. Make haste, now, and I'll see you inside."

Jack took the cloth and towel and, as Martha bustled away, handed them to Nell. He watched in silence as she awkwardly wet the cloth at the pump and wiped her face and hands.

Finished, she turned to him. "Is it all right?"

"Good God," he muttered. Far, far too pretty.

"What?" she asked, dismayed.

"Nothing. You've missed a spot or two, is all." And he took the wet cloth from her.

**TBC…**


	5. Calm

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued…**_

Ablutions complete, they climbed the steps and entered Whitby House through the back door. The kitchen maid and pot boy exclaimed delightedly over Captain Sparrow, and then the smiling Mistress Whitby herself led them into the dining room and installed them at a corner table by the hearth.

"A bit of a fire, to take the chill off. I declare, I've never seen so much rain here, you'd think we were still in England. Unseasonable cool, as they say – or maybe I've just gotten soft, living here these four years. A cup of hot punch for you and the lad, Captain?"

"Just for me, thanks. Smith here'd prefer a pot of chocolate, if you've any to hand."

"Chocolate!" exclaimed Mistress Whitby. "My goodness, aren't we high-toned! But certainly we can accommodate the young gentleman. I shall bring it directly." She exited, chuckling.

Nell turned to Captain Sparrow. "I haven't had chocolate this age! Thank you."

He fixed her with an oddly penetrating look. "You're welcome. It'll take her some time to make it, so let's have it. The _truth_, now, mind."

She hesitated. The fact that he was held in such esteem by Martha Whitby and the folk of Whitby House had gone far toward persuading Nell that her favorable first impression of the captain had been correct. Or second impression; she had been quite terrified to be pushed so roughly against that wall. Yet, as good natured and elegant of manner (and young, and _very_ handsome) as he seemed, the captain was still a pirate. How far could he be trusted with the truth? What machinations occupied the brain behind those dark eyes? She wanted to trust him. But…

"If you betray me… it would be _horridly_ wicked. Beyond _anything!_"

The words sounded absurd, even to her own ears.

And Captain Sparrow grimaced. "Don't tell me you're one of those _dramatickal_ sorts of females. Don't matter how pretty you are, if that's the case."

Nell bridled. "Is that the only reason you're helping me?"

"Who said I'm helping you? Other than coming here for a meal, which I was doing anyway. Though if you was quizzy, or squint-eyed, I probably wouldn't have gone that far," he admitted. "A pretty physiognomy comes in useful sometimes, as I happen to know from experience." He smirked, looking sinfully coy.

She could not help giving a little snort of laughter, but said, severely, "Pretty is as pretty does."

"Ha! That's what they'd like you to believe, innit? I suppose your grandmother used to say that, too."

At the mention of her beloved grandmother, Nell's amusement vanished with aching speed. Tears threatened again, which must have been evident for a comically panicked look crossed the captain's face. But Nell sat up, very straight, and calmed herself. "No. I will not weep, you needn't worry. I am grateful for your… your mercy toward me, and must hope it will continue when I tell you—"

"—the _truth_." The captain glared.

"The truth," Nell agreed.

**TBC…**


	6. Truth

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued…**_

"My grandmother is very wealthy."

Jack lifted a brow. "That right?"

"Yes. _Very_. My mother and I lived with her, until a few months ago when… when a man came to visit. An old friend, she said. I daresay you might have heard of him. Harrison Claypool."

"Claypool! Aye, I know him. Or played cards with him, at least. He cheats."

"Does he? Did you call him on it?"

"No. Returned the favor. He was fair flummoxed when he started losing to a green lad, as I recall."

Nell smiled. "Were you?"

"Green? Never in life. But go on. Claypool came to visit…"

The smile faded. "And my mother was completely taken in. He asked her to marry, to come to the Caribbean and be mistress of his plantation. Grandmother begged her not to go. Mother's constitution wasn't strong, you see. But she wouldn't listen. And she died. Shortly after we arrived. A dreadful fever."

"Yellowjack?"

"Yes."

She was looking vaporish again, but he could hardly fault her for it. "All too common, hereabouts. I'm sorry."

She nodded. "Yes. Thank you." She raised her eyes to Jack's, and her voice grew hard as she went on. "Mr. Claypool would not let me leave. I wanted to return to England, to my grandmother. But he insisted. His importunities…"

Jack frowned. "Importunities?"

"I never liked him. The way he would look at me, even while she lived! But after… he felt no constraint. I couldn't bear it. So I took some of his money, and these clothes from the overseer's son, and stowed away on a trader bound for Nassau. But it came here, instead! I thought to find another ship, but my purse was stolen. That was nearly a month ago."

"And picking pockets seemed the easiest road to solvency?" Jack lifted a brow.

"It's better than… than some things. And his agents followed me – I discovered it through the veriest stroke of luck! So my employment was necessarily clandestine."

"Not to mention impeded by a want of skill."

She flushed. "I was quite successful even so, before you—"

"Here we are, my lads!" said Martha, and set down her tray.

There was, besides Jack's punch and the steaming pot of chocolate, a basket of fresh rolls and a dish of butter, and Jack had to grin at Nell's ravenous stare. He took up his cup. "Here's to success, eh?"

**TBC…**


	7. Bargain

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued…**_

The meal that Mistress Whitby proceeded to serve them wafted Nell to a plane of ecstasy she'd seldom achieved in dining, even at the hands of her grandmother's very superior French cook. These transports seemed to entertain Captain Sparrow, but Nell didn't mind at all – so much the better, in fact. The stew was rich and delicious, full of good quality meat, fresh vegetables and savory herbs, the bread and butter were absolutely ambrosial, and it had been far too long since Nell had partaken of such a good meal. She had been most unwilling to spend her ill-gotten but desperately needed gains on any but the most basic sustenance, bread and cheese, the occasional apple, hot tea, cold lemonade. And in Harrison Claypool's house, grief and fear had stolen away her appetite during those last weeks.

When she was almost finished with her first plate, Mistress Whitby brought her another. "Bless you, lad, one would think you were starving. Captain Sparrow! Have you been stinting this youngster, and him a growing boy?"

"Not I. He obviously has a hollow leg." The captain's fine eyes twinkled, and Nell couldn't help smiling back.

But after Mistress Whitby left again, and Nell had embarked on her second helping, the captain's next words engendered startled dismay.

"Claypool's wealthy, too, as I recall. _Very_."

She choked, coughed, and grabbed up her napkin, pressing it to her lips, looking up at him quickly. There was something devious in his expression along with the amusement, and there was no use saying _You wouldn't!_ when it was quite evident he very well might. A bargain must be struck between them, if at all possible, and the sooner the better.

"I've saved nearly enough for my passage home. If you would but loan me the rest of it, I swear I'll repay you tenfold, as soon as I reach England."

"Ah. That's very tempting. And yet, what would Claypool pay to have you back, I wonder?"

He said this teasingly, but Nell felt almost faint at the thought of falling once again into the hands of that man. Panic welling, she quickly glanced around to locate the dining room's exits, but then gasped in electrified horror. Across the room, over by the wide door leading to the inn's foyer, Martha Whitby stood, wiping her hands on her apron and speaking, in the friendliest manner, to Harrison Claypool's agents.

TBC… 


	8. Spook

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued…**_

_"It's them!"_

"Who?" Jack swung around, saw two men with Martha, turned back to Nell and she was gone! She'd slipped from her chair and, bent double, was trying to reach the door to the kitchen unseen.

A futile effort.

Martha turned toward their table, the men looked at Jack, then spotted Nell and started after her. Nell yelped, abandoned her ineffective subterfuge, and ran for the door. Jack leapt to his feet, grabbed a chair from an adjacent table and slung it hard. Happily it caught the first of Nell's pursuers, and the second man, close behind, barreled into the first, flooring them both.

"Jack Sparrow!" roared Martha, outraged.

"Sorry, love!" Jack shouted back as he bolted after Nell, avoiding the struggling pair on the floor with a dexterous hop, skip and jump.

He rushed through the deserted kitchen and out the back, clattering down the steps into the moonlit night. The deeply shadowed perimeters of the garden would have offered convenient concealment, if she'd considered, but she was doubtless too rabbit scared. He ran along the side of the house, instead, and gaining the front he caught sight of her, sure enough, racing for the corner, back the way they'd come.

But the inn's front door burst open and Claypool's men saw her, too. Jack shrank against the house as they bowled down the steps and sprinted after the girl. Then he took off, in quite another direction.

There was more than one way back to the waterfront.

**TBC…**


	9. Down

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued…**_

The neat, well-lit streets around Whitby House were much less familiar to Nell than the waterfront, and lacked the dark nooks, secret crannies, and narrow alleyways she'd come to rely on in her usual pitch. She had to reach known ground, but rounding a corner she was dismayed to see how far Jack Sparrow had brought her. The street sloped gently downhill, and the lower part of the town and the harbor were clearly visible, and far too distant, particularly considering the sound of pursuit behind her.

There being nothing for it, Nell ran as fast as her legs would carry her, trying to ignore the discomfort of doing so post-feast. The street gradually grew muddier and more populated, the townsfolk giving her startled or angry looks as she shot past, and the pursuing footsteps grew nearer, from what she could tell -- she dared not turn to look.

At last, chest heaving, side stitching, stomach roiling, she'd rounded a corner into the crowded street that fronted the harbor when her progress was abruptly checked by a hand at her collar. She tried to scream, but all that emerged was a strangled noise and she was seized in strong arms and pulled into deep shadow. A calloused hand was clapped over her mouth and a voice at her ear commanded, "_Shut it!_"

Jack Sparrow!

He loosed his grip, slightly, and she shrank against him. Together they watched her pursuers burst into the street outside their dark alley. The two men looked around in confusion at the many people on the street, then saw the entrance to the alley and seemed to look straight at them! Jack drew her back, behind him, his hand on his sword hilt, but he did not draw the weapon. And he was right: Claypool's men took a few steps toward them and then were distracted by the noise of some fracas up the street. A moment later they were gone.

She would have sagged with relief, but Jack didn't give her the chance. "They might come back," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along after him, deeper into the alley. They picked their way around or through various sorts of inconvenient and sometimes horrid rubble until they came to the far end: a brick wall. "Can you climb?"

"If you help me," she replied at once, hoping it was true.

"Up you go then," he said, making a stirrup of his hands. She scraped some of the debris off her shoe and set it in his hands. "One, two, _three!_" he counted, and then she was boosted high, high enough to reach the top.

The bricks tore at her hands, but her clothing protected the rest of her as she pulled herself up, swung one leg over, then the other, and sat. "There's a garden!" she told Jack over her shoulder, surprised.

"I know it. Get down!"

It looked a long way. But needs must, so she scooted forward, steeled herself, and jumped.

**TBC…**


	10. Wounds

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued...**_

"_Ow!_"

That was a bad sign. Jack got himself up and over the wall with a minimum of difficulty, dropping down beside Nell, who was sitting on the grass with her shoe off, nursing her foot.

"Are you hurt? Let me see."

She looked up at him. "I twisted it when I landed," she said, her voice breaking.

"Hush, you can blub later, inside, if you must."

"Why, thank you for your kind permission!" she snapped, and snuffled, wiping her nose on her coat sleeve.

Her foot was small and slender, and encased in a not-very-clean white stocking. Examining it carefully, he found himself thinking it was the sort of appendage suited to an embroidered slipper, and trying to recall if they had any such among the swag they'd taken of late. Her sudden hiss interrupted his train of thought. "Hurts here? Try to relax." The side of her foot and the outside of her ankle were puffed, but nothing seemed too much amiss, or unbearably painful, for she was quiet enough, though he noticed she was gripping the grass on either side of her. "A strain, like as not. Let's get you into the house. I'll find something to bind it."

"We can go in? Do you know who lives here?"

"Aye. Came by to see her soon as we dropped anchor, but she's from home at the moment, and the couple that serves her as well. Most convenient for us, eh? Get your shoe." This last as he helped her to stand. Then, when she was swaying on a foot and a half, he said, "Don't squeak, now," and swept her up, light and close.

"Oh! I can walk!"

"Silence! I don't do this for just anyone, y'know." And he carried her across the garden to the house.

**TBC…**


	11. Moon

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued...**_

He set her on her feet – foot – when they reached the door and she willed her cheeks to cool while he looked for the key. How disconcerting to be carried like that!

"It's here, somewhere," he muttered, feeling along the top edge of the doorjamb. "Ah! Success!"

He held up the key and his teasing wink set her blushing once more. Oh, he was dangerous, she was drawn to him like a moth to the flame! He turned to unlock the door and she scowled at his back, sternly berating herself. Then he got the door open and stood aside to let her pass.

"Milady?" he said, sweeping his arm in a welcoming gesture.

Good heavens.

"You are dreadful!" she exclaimed, in a low, embarrassing burst of candor, and was further mortified when he agreed.

"I know precisely what you mean, love. You're rather dreadful yourself. Nothing for it, however. We must gird our loins. As it were. Come. Inside, _tout de suite_."

She limped past him and found herself in a hallway that ran toward the front of the house. Jack entered behind her, closed the door, and locked it again. They weren't quite plunged into darkness, for the full moon shone through the windows, in the rooms on either side and the one in the door.

"We'd best not use a lamp, might attract undesirable attention. Sit down on this bench—"

She did, perforce.

"—and I'll go look around."

"Are you sure we should be here? Your friend won't mind?"

"Mind? Not at all. She's true blue, is Sally."

He ambled off, disappearing from sight, though she could still hear him as he moved about, his bootsteps on the polished wood floors and the staircase, and once a small crash and the sound of glass breaking, followed by indistinct cursing.

She turned and rested her throbbing foot and ankle upon the bench beside her. The pain gradually faded, but as it did so the indigestion engendered by their mad escape became all the more noticeable. She leaned against the wall, tired and thirsty, slightly sick, and wondering why she wasn't more worried.

Eventually Jack returned. "You'd like our hostess's rooms, I daresay. Quite resplendent. But they're upstairs. Might prove difficult for your foot—or my back, if I carried you. We'll stay down here, in the housekeeper's room, just off the kitchen. We can have a nice tot of her brandy, for medicinal purposes, and get some shuteye. Come, up you go."

He took her hands and helped her to her feet. Impulsively, she clutched his fingers. "I'm sorry I said you were dreadful. It's me, not you. I'm so very much—"

"Such honesty! Most ill-advised." He kissed her knuckles, then said, amused and seductive, "I reckon it's both of us, love. But tonight, at least, you'll remain unravished."

She couldn't help smiling. "Are you tempted? I am most unravishing at present."

His teeth shown white in the gloom. "Very true. But tomorrow's another day."

**TBC…**


	12. Monsters

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued...**_

"Nell! Nell, wake up! There's someone coming."

Nell groaned softly as morning air rushed to chill her where the body of her erstwhile companion had been spooned against her. Her head felt oddly fuzzy, and she rolled onto her back, her eyes blinking in the pale dawn.

Then, she remembered.

She struggled to sit up. Jack Sparrow was swiftly donning his coat, and saw her, but before he could say anything there were footsteps, the door to their room opened, and a woman – _the housekeeper?_ – shrieked!

Nell yelped, too, and scrambled up and out of the bed as the woman retreated, then returned within moments, wielding a broom.

"Insolent devil—_Jack Sparrow!_" The woman gaped at Jack, recognition rapidly giving away to fury.

"I can explain—" said Jack, tossing his baldrick over his head.

"Explain? Explain how you've brought your catamite to Miss Sarah's house and used _my bed_ for the tupping of 'im? I'll explain _you!_"

As the woman proceeded to lay about Jack's head and shoulders with the broom, Nell grabbed her coat and shoes and beat a hasty retreat into the kitchen. Her foot seemed less sore, fortunately. She put on her shoes and coat, prodded by the din behind her.

Then Jack rushed out, pulled the door shut, turned to Nell and said, "Run! Front door!"

They ran. Or Jack ran. Nell hobbled quickly, though not quick enough. The housekeeper exploded into the hall behind them, and Nell looked back to catch a hair-raising glimpse before Jack grabbed her hand and pulled her around before him.

"_Move!_"

They reached the front door with their Nemesis on their heels, and the woman gave Jack one last bash over the head as he struggled with the bolt. "Just _wait_ until Miss Sarah hears of this, you reprobate!"

"_Ow!_ Bloody hell, it's not what you think!"

The door opened and Nell got out, but stopped on the brick walk to watch Jack's brief struggle to wrest away the offending broom. He managed it at last, and raised it threateningly for a moment, and the woman backed away with another shriek of outrage. But he didn't hit her, he came outside and threw the broom like an unwieldy javelin. As it landed in the street, he turned to the housekeeper and yelled, "So there!"

The door slammed shut.

He did not seem much damaged. He straightened himself, adjusted his hat, brushed at his coat sleeves, then faced Nell, his expression quite composed, though his eyes still smouldered. "You ready for some breakfast?" he asked her.

"Yes. Oh, yes!" She managed to contain her laugher, though her voice quivered with it.

But he grinned crookedly. "Let's go then, shall we?"

**TBC…**


	13. Beauty

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued...**_

It was very early, and the streets that had been so full of life under the bright old moon were nearly deserted as the young sun arose.

"I'll take you to a little place I know down by the beach on the east side," Jack said.

"Where the fishermen land their boats?" asked Nell.

"Aye. Not an area much frequented by pickpockets. But Claypool's men'll be watching the _Black Pearl_, if they're anywhere at all at this devilish hour. I expect Martha told 'em who I am—meaning no harm by it, you understand."

Nell said, sadly, "I was sorry to be obliged to treat Mistress Whitby in such a fashion. She was very kind."

"Aye," Jack agreed. "I owe her for the dinner, and she wasn't best pleased about the chair, either."

"The chair? What chair?"

"The chair I threw across the room, to stop those fellows coming after you. Or delay them at least. I got the first, neat as anything, and the other fell over him."

"Oh! How I wish I could have seen it!"

She was all genuine admiration and Jack couldn't help being gratified. Her next words, however, were rather less satisfactory.

"That house we stayed in last night… didn't you say the people who lived there were friends of yours?"

Jack winced. "Sally is. _Miss Sarah_. She's a right one. I'll explain the whole thing to her next time we meet, and she'll listen—unlike that harridan that keeps house for her. I'm just glad the husband didn't come in. Great, burley gent, he is, does the gardening and odd jobs, and drives Sally's carriage for her."

"Is Sally your lover?"

Jack nearly choked, and stopped to glare down at Nell. "What sort of question is that?"

She colored, but only a little. "Is she?"

"That's none of your business, _Miss Impertinence_." He started off again, faster. "If you had any delicacy of mind you'd never have asked such a thing."

"If I had much delicacy of mind, I would have starved by now," she replied. "But I'm sorry if I've offended you."

It didseem absurd, and Jack wasn't even sure why he'd taken offense. He glanced at her, a slight, grubby figure in baggy boy's clothing, her hair clubbed and half hidden by a cap, limping along beside him. She didn't look like much, at first sight. But at second! And that face wasn't all. She'd taken off her coat to sleep last night, and though she was slender, there'd certainly been curves enough to tempt his hands when he'd laid down beside her – _for warmth_, he'd told her, though the brandy had already eased her qualms. But he'd nobly resisted temptation.

For she _did_ have delicacy of mind. She'd come this far without selling her body, though she must know it was the quickest way for a woman to make money here. There were men who'd pay a fortune to bed her: young, beautiful, high-born. A maid untouched.

He would himself.

**TBC…**


	14. Name

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued...**_

"Papa, look! It's Captain Sparrow."

Anamaria's papa looked up from the net he was mending and peered down the beach. "So it is. You're in luck, _petite_. I know you have a _tendre _for him."

This was true, but though Ana'd seen only nine summers she was old enough to hate being teased about such things. She scowled, and dug her foot in the sand. "I like him for the stories he tells. But who is that boy with him?"

"One of his crew, maybe?"

"No!" It came to Ana, suddenly. "I saw that boy in town. He's a pickpocket!"

"A pickpocket? And what were you doing in town?"

His tone was sharp, and Ana said quickly, "I was helping Constanze with the delivery to the Green Dolphin, Papa. We didn't stay, not long. But that boy was across the street when we were there, and I saw him pick Jigger Cane's pocket."

"Hmmph. I can't think of anyone more deserving, but it was a bad risk." The visitors were now within hailing distance, and Ana's papa waved a greeting.

Captain Sparrow returned it. "Joe! Can one of your beautiful daughters make us some breakfast?"

"Only Anamaria is here to serve you, _capitaine_. It's wash day today and Constanze and Maribelle have gone with the women to the springs."

Anamaria watched the two approach. The captain was fascinating as ever, but there was something strange about that boy.

The captain said, "Joe, Anamaria, this is Smith. Paris Smith. Parry lad, this is Monsieur Pêcheur and his daughter, the beautiful Miss Anamaria."

His companion, who had given an odd start at this introduction, bowed and said, "How d'you do?"

Ana's papa said, "Very fair, thanks," and smiled.

But Anamaria wasn't fooled. She said to the pickpocket, "You're a _girl_, aren't you?"

**TBC…**


	15. History

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued...**_

Nell gaped at Anamaria, then turned to Jack and hissed resentfully, "Why did you call me Paris? It's a silly name!"

"No, it ain't. It's a classical allusion," retorted Jack, and continued with a fluttering of hands. "Helen, Paris. They go together. Came to me sudden, like a vision. You're the one who muffed it. You should've been quicker on the uptake. But that's a female for you."

Nell favored him with an exasperated glare. She then turned to Monsieur Pêcheur and his daughter. "I'm so sorry. It's true, I'm afraid."

"_And_ you're a pickpocket," the little girl said, with evident relish.

"Oh, dear," said Nell, worriedly. Anamaria was distressingly sharp-witted.

But Monsieur Pêcheur said to his daughter, "Peace, Ana. There's doubtless a fine tale behind it, and so long as she doesn't pick _our_ pockets she's welcome here as a friend of the captain's. They are both hungry. Go fetch some of that good mangú you made, and some of the bread and fruit."

"And here's something on account for it," Jack said with a wink, and flipped Anamaria a coin.

She caught it, deftly, and grinned at him, and even her glance at Nell was more tolerant as she skipped off toward a cluster of palm-shaded houses.

"Come now. Sit down and share this tale with me," said Monsieur Pêcheur.

Nell felt herself flushing as she sat cross-legged on the sand. "I'm afraid it's rather sordid."

Jack sat, too, and said, "Could be worse," laying a hand briefly on Nell's knee. "You know old Harrison Claypool, Joe?"

Monsieur Pêcheur frowned. "I do. He comes to Tortuga at times."

"Took it into his head to marry again. Nell's mother. Brought the two of 'em out from England, and when her mother succumbed to the Yellowjack he went after Nell."

"No!" exclaimed Monsieur Pêcheur, quite shocked.

Nell bit her lip, but said nothing, content to let Jack tell it.

"She lifted some blunt from him and hopped a trader – she's a grandmother in England, y'see – but it came here and she lost the purse soon as she set foot on the dock. Been picking the pockets of the unwary for what, a month now?" Jack silently quizzed Nell, who nodded. He winked at Joe, "_I_ wasn't quite so unwary as some."

Monsieur Pêcheur, though still somewhat shocked, chuckled at this last, and said to Nell, "You are fortunate to have found the _capitaine_!" He then said to Jack, "So. You will take her home on the _Black Pearl_? That is most generous of you!"

"Well," said Jack, slowly. "It ain't all decided yet. But I was thinking something of that nature could be arranged, if it was to her liking."

**TBC…**


	16. Service

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued...**_

The look on Nell's face at these words was priceless. "You'd do that for me?" she squeaked. Jack observed that she was strongly tempted to throw her arms about him, and though she resisted for modesty's sake, it was a good sign, boding well for things to come.

There were some trifling details to work out, of course.

Some of the crew wouldn't like him bringing a lass aboard, or even a "cabin boy" if her disguise was preserved for the present, though Jack didn't really think that would fadge for long. And Barbossa would harp about Jack being "soft", as per usual.

But there were others who'd be pleased, even ecstatic.

Bootstrap, in particular. He'd been making noises about leaving of late, leaving the _Pearl_ and signing on with another ship to take him "home" to see Mary and little Will – who wasn't so little now, come to think of it, wasn't he Anamaria's age, or thereabouts? Well, Jack couldn't have it. He needed Bill, needed his sword arm, his sailing skill, his (mostly) level head. His loyalty. His friendship. Of course, Bill would no doubt view with disapprobation a prospective liaison between Nell and Jack. But that could be got around.

And there were plenty of others who'd been waxing nostalgic for Merrie Olde England, quite forgetting the notoriously horrid weather (though they'd arrive in summer if they left now, thank God fasting) and more important, the various, and often very dire reasons they'd abandoned that "blessed plot" in the first place.

And what better time could there be? They'd been out pirating an unconscionably long time this last voyage and the _Pearl_ had been stuffed to the scuppers with swag when they'd arrived in Tortuga. Much of it was sold off, now, and they'd had a distribution of shares just the previous morning. The lads were presently scattered all over the town, busy as spendthrift bees– he had been himself, before he'd run across Nell last night – and in a few days they wouldn't have a groat left if they went on like that. Why, they'd thank him for it, in the end!

And Nell, too, would no doubt be suitably grateful to her benefactor.

"_Charity shall cover the multitude of sins_," quoted Jack, "and the good Lord knows I've multitudes and to spare. You'll be doing me a favor, darlin'. You have my word on it."

**TBC…**


	17. Advice

**17 – Advice – 350 **

Monsieur Pêcheur finished repairing the net as Anamaria brought the meal out to the beach on a tray, setting it down on the sand. There were boiled eggs, spicy sausages, a variety of fruits, fresh rolls, and mangú, a dish Nell had learned to love during her stay on Harrison Claypool's plantation. She was suddenly very hungry again, and set to with a will, to Jack's amusement and Anamaria's evident satisfaction.

"You like it!"

"It's the best meal I've had since coming here!" said Nell, between bites.

"What about dinner last night?" Jack said, with something of a pout.

"Oh, it was very good, too. But we had not yet come to an understanding. Right now I feel as though I could fly!"

Jack chuckled. "You won't get off the ground if you keep eating like that."

But Monsieur Pêcheur said, "You eat hearty, little bird, you've seen plenty of lean days. And it seems your plumage needs preening, too. Would you like Ana to take you to the springs to wash? Jack, I'll take you out on my new boat while they're gone. The _Jolly Mon_ is the finest fishing boat on Tortuga."

Jack looked at Nell rather doubtfully. But she smiled and said, "It's true, I'm desperately in need of a wash. We won't be gone too long."

"A few hours," said Anamaria. "You won't want to hurry, it's nice up at the springs."

"A few hours then," said Jack. "Ana, you take care of her for me."

"She won't get away," Anamaria said. She eyed Nell, and Nell couldn't help laughing.

"Good," Jack said approvingly. "Joe, do you think you could run me across the bay to the _Pearl_? I should check on things, make sure the watch isn't dead drunk and such."

"Certainly," said Monsieur Pêcheur. "And this afternoon we will gather back here. There is a feast planned for tonight. Will you both stay for it?"

"We will. That is, if Nell likes. Doubt if Claypool's men will be looking in this direction."

"Very true," said Nell, "and yes, I would like it of all things!"

**_TBC_**


	18. Captain

**18 – Captain – 500 **

The _Jolly Mon_ was a trim, sweet-going vessel, and Joe was justly proud of her. She was as near new as made no odds, freshly painted white with red trim, her name picked out in black and gold. Her single big square sail caught the morning breeze, and she skimmed lightly over Tortuga's sparkling bay to where the _Black Pearl _was anchored.

"Ahoy there!" called a voice when they were within hailing distance. It was Bootstrap Bill, waving at them over the taffrail. "Where the devil have you been, Captain? The _Pearl_ missed you last night!"

"And I missed her. Toss down the ladder, will you?"

"Aye aye, sir!"

Bill vanished from view, reappearing amidships to carry out his orders as Joe expertly guided the _Jolly Mon_ alongside.

Joe said to Jack, "I'll do some fishing and return for you. An hour?"

"Aye, thanks, Joe." Jack deftly clapped onto the ladder and scrambled up and over the _Pearl_'s side.

Bill was waiting. "Not like you to abandon your best girl all night. The distraction must've been something special."

"She was." Jack chuckled, and turned to look back toward the beach, and the edge of the forest where he'd last seen Nell before Ana'd led her away. "_Is_." He glanced around, but the ship was virtually deserted yet—no surprise—and all was as neatly stowed as when he'd left the day before. "Come with me to the cabin, Bill, I've something to tell you."

Bill got virtually the same account that Joe had earlier, with the addition of a few details about their dealings with Claypool's men and their stay at Sally's (the Battle of the Broom being omitted as irrelevant).

"So we're off to England, Bill, as soon as we can gather the lads, take on stores and head out. I know you've been wanting to go, and plenty of others do too."

Bill shook his head. "Jack, we'll miss most of the season here. I know we've done well this spring, more than well! But Barbossa—"

"Devil take Barbossa!" said Jack. "He can sign on with another ship if he don't want to come. I'm the captain! And who knows but maybe we'll get a prize or two off the Canaries, like we did a few years ago, eh? But it's likely Nell's family will be most appreciative, in a verbal _and_ a monetary sense. Savvy?"

"You don't know that her family's wealthy. You don't know her last name!"

"No, but I've a good feeling about this. You'll understand, I'll introduce you when she comes aboard. She'll be sailing as my cabin boy, though, and stay in here with me."

"With _you?_ What's her family going to have to say about that, I wonder?"

"Nothing. I'll hire some lass to play gooseberry when I take her home."

Bill shook his head, but a smile was starting, too. "You've got it all planned out already, don't you?"

"I do."

"So, we're going home."

"We're going home," Jack grinned.

**_TBC_**


	19. Awe

**19 – Awe – 300 **

Joe watched his guest straighten and look toward the forest, saying for the third time in an hour, "Where the devil are they?"

"Patience," Joe counseled, and continued threading the fresh fish onto the long skewers for roasting. "You don't know much about women, do you?"

Jack turned to him. "I may be considerably younger than you, but I haven't been accused of that in some time. I was a precocious lad." He winked.

Joe shrugged. "I'm not talking about _that_ kind of woman."

"What kind, then?" Jack asked, sitting down again.

"The kind of woman that nourishes you, body _and_ soul." Joe briefly became lost in remembering his daughters' mother, who had certainly been such a woman, but roused and met Jack's eye. "They are worth the wait."

Jack looked bemused and somewhat skeptical. But an hour later that look was gone as all the women, including Jack's little bird, returned to the beach.

The poor fellow caught no more than a glimpse of his desired quarry before the whole troop conspired to block his view, hurrying to surround and greet him with a babble of laughter. Jack threw an imploring glance at Joe, but Joe shrugged, knowing there was nothing to be done with such willful creatures as his daughters and their friends. So Jack resigned himself, patiently returning their greetings until at last the vixens were satisfied and parted ranks to reveal their creation. The shabby little thief was transformed. A slip of a girl came forward in a colorful, lightly clinging shift that Joe recognized as one of his daughter Maribelle's. The girl's waving hair, a soft brown, flowed down her back, her small, pale feet were bare on the sand, and her eyes were sparkling. She held out her hands to Jack, an apology on her pretty lips. "I'm sorry we were so long. My clothes still aren't quite dry, so I had to wear this."

Jack stared, stared her up and down, and took her hands in his. He cleared his throat and managed, at last, to speak. "No worries, love. You look… _fine!_"

**_TBC_**


	20. Cross

**20 – Cross – 500**

Anamaria was not smiling.

_You take care of her for me_, Jack had said, and hadn't she done it? Ana had kept her eye on Nell all that long day up at the springs, and the girl had neither run off, nor been in any sort of danger. Washing day, a weekly event, included both bodies and clothing, but the locals knew enough to stay away as there was always a guard set, armed with a serviceable machete. The women could swim and sun and gossip to their hearts' content after the clothes were washed, and they took full advantage of this freedom.

Nell had been viewed with some suspicion at first, but not for long when they found out she belonged to Jack Sparrow. After that, Ana's sisters had gleefully taken charge. Nell had been stripped in a trice and led into the wide pool to bathe while her filthy boy's clothes were scrubbed and even pounded with rocks to get them clean. Nell had been first startled, then pleased to be scrubbed top to toe, and had liked Ana's sisters just fine. Constanze and Maribelle told Nell all about Jack Sparrow and his adventures, piratical and otherwise. They'd even shooed Ana away at certain points, but Nell's wide eyes and red cheeks gave Ana an idea of what they were saying.

Nell was lively and pretty, that couldn't be denied, and Jack didn't. He looked like he'd been knocked acock when he finally saw her, and it didn't get much better as the sun set and night fell. He and Nell helped to prepare food, ate together, then sat listening to stories, or dancing with the others. Ana had watched all this from the shadows, watched how Jack had studied Nell's every move, even hung on her words and laughter and, when the evening drew to a close, how Jack had spread a blanket for the two of them on the sand. They lay down on half of it and pulled the other half over, and whispered together for a long time before they settled to sleep.

Ana ground her teeth.

There was nothing Ana could do, no one she could talk to. Everyone would laugh if they knew how she felt. But she couldn't sleep, and lay looking up at the mindless stars, reliving the day whether she would or no. And it seemed she was the only other person awake when Nell eased herself from the blanket and padded off in the direction of the privy.

Ana debated, then got up and followed. _You take care of her for me. _Well, she would.

She hurried to catch up, but when she was almost there she heard a sharp, short yelp, and the sound of heavy feet, and some thrashing. Bending low, she ran to where she could see. There were two men, and they had Nell, gagged and slumped between them, half-fainting it looked like, and they were moving off as fast as ever they could.

**_TBC_**


	21. You've made a big mistake

**21 - "You've made a big mistake" – 500**

Ana could move quietly at need, and this was one of those times. But she hurried, too, and made her way back to the beach in short order. Then she dug in, and the sand flew as she sped across to where Jack lay, sound asleep.

She slid to a halt on her knees beside him, grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him, hard. "Wake up! Jack, wake up!"

He fairly exploded into consciousness, flailing, and it was only sheer luck and quick reflexes that saved her a blow. Then he saw who it was and said, "What the devil?" and immediately after that noticed Nell was gone.

"Two men took her!" Ana told him. "She went to the privy and I followed, like you said. They're headed to town on the inland track."

"Damnation!" Jack exclaimed, struggling from the blanket. "Ana, go get your father, see if he and some of the others can help me."

Ana knew how to follow orders -- Jack's orders, anyway. She ignored her father's, and maybe would pay for it later, but she had to see. She escaped her sleep-mussed and frightened sisters' vigilance easily and snuck off after the rescue party, her father and two others armed with knives and machetes, and a very determined Jack Sparrow.

Nell's captors were moving fast but didn't know the land. The rescuers, even Jack, did know it and were able to spread out and surround their quarry. Ana followed Jack, staying far enough behind so he wouldn't notice, and presently he stepped out onto the path. She hid in the brush, but got a good view as the villains came around the bend not a minute later and found their way barred by a well-armed pirate.

"You two've made a big mistake," Jack said, lifting his sword as he walked toward them.

The one carrying Nell slung over his shoulder, an ill-favored brute, swiftly got her down, pulled her against him and put a knife to her throat. "Stay where you are," he said to Jack. The knife glinted, sharp and new in the bright moonlight, and Jack stopped.

Nell was blinking, and appeared to be trying to gather her wits, and then, to Ana's surprised admiration, began to wretch and choke violently, as though she were going to be sick! It worked like a charm, startling her captors, and they let down their guard for one vital moment. Jack pulled his pistol from his sash, barely seemed to take time to aim, and fired. The man holding Nell was knocked backwards, screaming, and dropped the knife, and Ana's papa and his two friends stepped out of the brush, their blades at the ready. The second man searched frantically for an opening, thought he saw one and ran straight for Ana! She didn't even think, just leapt up and grabbed at him, oversetting them both. They fell hard, the man twisting to land atop her, and Ana felt and _heard_ her left arm break.

**_TBC_**


	22. Heroism

**22 – Heroism – 600 **

Ana couldn't help the shriek that escaped her.

"Ana!" she heard her father shout fearfully.

The man she'd brought down was cursing foully, struggling to rise, and she cried out again as her arm was heedlessly jolted. But then her victim was abruptly removed and subdued with brutal efficiency as her father knelt beside her, his stricken look twisting her heart.

"My little one, what have you done?"

"_He_ did it," she said through her tears, for the shock and pain were terrible, and she knew it would be far worse before it was better. She'd seen bones set before.

Her father scolded gently, worriedly, as he helped her to sit up, "So he did, but this is a high price to pay for your bravery and disobedience. You are too reckless, my heart."

"Is she hurt?" It was Nell, looking disheveled but more or less recovered, though there was a bruise on the side of her forehead that Ana winced to see.

And then Jack was there, crouching down, concern on his face, in his eyes. "Ana, love, what've you done? Saved the day, b'gad, but your arm!"

Ana wanted to tell him it was nothing, just a scratch, for that's what she'd seen him do when he'd come to them hurt two years back, a dozen stitches in his thigh and never a peep out of him (though the rum had probably helped some). But to her shame, she burst into tears, and couldn't stop even when Jack sat down, drew her onto his lap and held her, letting her sob into his coat while her father arranged and bound her arm for the journey home.

*

It was both the best and worst night of Ana's life.

More people came to carry the trussed villains, for they were both alive and relatively unhurt – Jack insisted he'd _meant_ to merely put a furrow in the first man's scalp with that bullet, and Ana at least believed him, she'd watched him at firearms practice and knew he was a crack shot – but Jack himself carried Ana back to the village, and she savored every second of that in spite of her arm. There was also a litany of awed admiration and sympathy directed toward her, all the way home and after they arrived, her sisters proclaiming they would never have had the courage to do such a thing and she was the best of them, beyond doubt.

When Jack laid her on the bed and her family began to prop her up with pillows and fuss over her, she thought sure the pirate would take his leave, but he did not, nor did Nell. They stayed with her father and sisters while the doctor was summoned. Her father gave her a nasty dose – Jack laughed at the face she made – but it helped the pain and made her drowsy so that she just sat there, blinking. The doctor arrived and she steeled herself, but he only dosed her a second time and took his time treating Nell, letting the physick do its work.

Ana was very muzzy when it was her turn, but she was aware that Nell and her sisters left the room, that Jack and her father stayed, and that the next few minutes would have been unbearable except for their presence, their kind hands and encouraging words. As it was, even dulled by the drug, the brief, excruciating agony was something she would never forget.

But neither would she forget the relief that followed, and the velvet blackness that rose up to claim her every sense.

**_TBC_**


	23. Gold

**23 – Gold – 400**

Nell and Ana's sisters were sitting silently, side by side on the steps, when Jack came out, followed by Joe and the doctor. The girls rose, Constanze and Maribelle moving swiftly to embrace their father. Nell asked, "How is she?" and took Jack's proffered hands almost without thinking.

It was the doctor who replied, solemnly, "She sleeps now. The break was clean, and has set well, and she is young and strong. I will come back in the morning to see how she does, but I foresee no difficulty."

"Thank God," Nell said. "That she should be hurt so, because of me!"

But Joe said, "Do not blame yourself, _cherie_. That we could help you in your need is a happiness to us. Anamaria was a bold creature from her earliest days and ever inclined to run upon her fate. It's not easy being father to such a daughter. You see how gray my hair is?" He nodded weightily, his face crinkling with rueful amusement.

Even the doctor chuckled. Then his face fairly beamed as Jack fished a gold doubloon from his pocket and handed it over. The doctor bit it with strong, white teeth and held it up to glint in the moonlight. "_Eh, bien!_ It is good to be paid in gold, rather than chickens, or dried fish, on occasion. _Merci, capitaine_." He gave Jack a bow, then said to Anamaria's sisters, "It would be well to keep watch of the little one in these first hours. Send for me immediately if she becomes at all distressed."

As he left, Maribelle said, "_I_ will take the first watch."

"No, _I_ will!" Constanze frowned. "You can't always be first! _Maribelle!_" A whispered argument ensued as the two went into the house.

Joe shook his head, smiling, then turned to Jack. "Shall we take those villains out to the _Black Pearl_ now, before it is light? They are waiting in the _Jolly Mon_, tied like the pigs they are."

"Aye," said Jack. "They can cool their heels in the brig while we take on stores for the voyage. Nell, darlin', you stay here and get some sleep. I'll be back as soon as may be."

He brushed light fingers over the bandage on her forehead, bent and placed a kiss next to it, and answered her startled look with a charming grin. Then he trotted down the steps after Joe.

**_TBC_**


	24. Echo

**24 – Echo – 500**

Nell tingled all over from that kiss long after Jack departed, and as she watched him and Joe and a few of the others launch the _Jolly Mon_, pushing it out through the little moonlit wavelets and onto the glassy bay, she felt both bereft and trembling, and absurd, too.

"Nell!" she scolded herself, sitting down on the steps again and putting cool hands to her cheeks. "What a fool you are!"

Some of the things Constanze and Maribelle had told her about Jack the previous afternoon jostled about in her head like some fascinating Roman orgy. She had liked Jack very well, of course, even before hearing them, but after! _Oh, dear_. It was evident that he was a rogue in every sense of the word, leaving outrageous schemes, longing hearts, and broken taboos in his merry, and often strangely honorable, wake. The Charming Grin came into her mind's eye. Irresistible.

And he liked _her_. Very well, indeed.

She knew what it meant when a man looked at one just so, it had happened to her before, young as she'd been, though the eagle eye of her grandmother had discouraged unwanted attentions. "You're a beauty, Nell, and you've cunning ways," Grandmother had told her once, quite matter-of-factly, her gaze fond but sharp, "and you'll find it a curse as well as a blessing as you grow older. Always remember, _handsome is as handsome does_ – and that goes for _you_ as well."

Her grandmother was the wisest person Nell knew.

But Jack Sparrow's attentions weren't unwanted. Nell felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, thinking of him, of the previous evening when he'd conversed with her so easily, laughingly fed her morsels of feast with his own fingers, swung her around in the firelight as they'd danced. And then she'd lain beside him, blanket-wrapped, and they'd continued their conversation in rum-scented whispers, and she'd wondered if he would try to kiss her. He had not, just slipped his arm under her and drew her close, but she knew sleep had not come easily. And the rest of the night… how sick with terror she had been, and how her heart had leapt when she realized it was he, his shadow long on the moonlit path, challenging Harrison Claypool's ruffians. Why, she had never witnessed anything like it! How heroic! How exciting!

And how besotted he'd left her.

He might be a pirate, but he was so much more.

His gentle way with young Anamaria was completely endearing. The little girl loved him so, and it must be obvious to anyone with eyes, save perhaps to Jack himself. It quite broke one's heart. But Anamaria would grow up, and perhaps her time would come.

Nell's time was now, if ever.

Grandmother had another saying, from a poem she liked: _Gather ye rosebuds while ye may_.

Nell, watching the _Jolly Mon_ move across the bay to the dark ship in the distance, determined she would follow Grandmother's _excellent_ advice.

* * *

_**~ To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time.**_  
**by Robert Herrick - 1591–1674**

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,  
Old time is still a-flying :  
And this same flower that smiles to-day  
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,  
The higher he's a-getting,  
The sooner will his race be run,  
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,  
When youth and blood are warmer ;  
But being spent, the worse, and worst  
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,  
And while ye may go marry :  
For having lost but once your prime  
You may for ever tarry.

* * *

**_TBC_**


	25. Greed

**25 – Greed – 400**

It still lacked an hour to dawn when there came a knock on the door of the Great Cabin, but before Jack had a chance to speak it opened and Barbossa walked in. Jack frowned, but he said, light enough, "Hector! Thought you'd still be abed. Have a drink with us?" Pouring another glass, Jack noticed that Joe was eyeing the newcomer warily. As well he might. Barbossa was a scary fellow.

"Haven't _been_ to bed," Barbossa growled. He took the glass, tossed back the rum, and wiped his mouth. "Not to _sleep_, at least. What's this I'm hearin' about the _Pearl_ sailin' to England?"

"Your hearing is excellent as always. We'll start taking on stores soon as it's light. Might be ready to leave by the evening tide, if we can round up the stragglers."

"I thought we'd decided against that course, seein' as how we'll miss _the whole season here_." Hector bared his teeth, a disturbing sight. "_Bloody hell!_" he exclaimed, sounding angrier as he warmed to his theme. "We'll be fightin' the hurricanes by the time we come back, and have nothin' to show for it!"

Jack shook his head sadly. "_Semper avarus eget_, Hector, no doubt of a word." There was no understanding in the narrowed eyes. Jack sighed. "Horace. _The greedy man is ever in want_. Look, there's plenty that're ecstatic at the prospect of going, or will be when they find out."

"Well, I ain't one of 'em! But I'll wager _Turner_ is, and don't try to deny it!"

"Why should I?" Jack shrugged. "But he's not the only one, as you well know. And I've taken a fancy to the idea meself. Call it a whim."

"You and your _whims!_" Barbossa spat.

Jack stood up, his patience wearing thin. "Aye, me and my _whims_. Seein' as how I'm captain, my _whims_'ll carry the day. If you can't live with that, you might look into alternative employment."

Barbossa scowled. "I ain't leaving the _Pearl_."

Jack inclined his head. "Your loyalty is admirable. And who knows, p'rhaps we'll contrive to combine business with pleasure. The Canary Islands and thereabouts have been good pickings in the past."

Hector's scowl faded. "Well. That _might_ go a ways toward assuaging me greed."

"I'd think so," said Jack, pointedly.

Barbossa nodded. "Business and pleasure, then. Like killin' two birds with one stone. As it were." And he almost smiled.

_**TBC**_


	26. Advance

**26 – Advance - 350**

After Barbossa left, Joe said, quietly, but with conviction and a worried look, "That is a dangerous man!"

Jack shrugged. "He's all right, mostly. I've known him a long time, he was second to Tobias when I came aboard the _Pearl_. It don't sit well with him that I rose from bilgewater stowaway to the captaincy. But he's a good sailor and a handy swordsman to have at one's back. We've saved each others' hides a time or two."

"You trust him?" Joe sounded incredulous.

"Wouldn't go _that_ far," Jack said, then called, "Come!" for there'd been another knock on the cabin door.

It was Bootstrap who came in and closed it behind him. "You've a silver tongue in that head of yours, Jack. Barbossa looks almost pleased!How the devil do you do it?"

"That's why I'm captain, ain't it?" Jack poured out more rum, a tot for each of them. "Here, Bill, have some breakfast."

Bootstrap rolled his eyes some, but he accepted the glass. "Got those fellows stashed in the brig. They're a bit worse for wear, but they'll live."

"Good. We'll toss 'em overboard when we set sail. They'll probably make it to shore from here, if they can swim. In the meantime, I'm pleased you've begun passing the word for the lads. Time and tide, and all that. I want to start provisioning soon as it's light. Fortunately we've plenty of scratch to fund this charitable venture. Good thing I like you, Bill. I wouldn't do it for just anyone."

"No. And you wouldn't do it for me, either."

Jack pouted. "I _might_ do it for you. I was _thinking_ about it."

Bill shook his head. "I'm looking forward to meeting your new 'cabin boy'. She must be something special."

Jack's brain conjured a vision of Nell as she had appeared on her return from the springs, and he could not maintain the pout, not for the life of him. "You might say so," he said slowly, as though even-handedly considering the assessment. But when Joe started laughing, Jack couldn't help grinning like a fool.

**_TBC_**


	27. Challenge

**27 – Challenge – 550**

While Joe sailed back across the bay in the _Jolly Mon_ with a message for Nell to be ready to board that evening, Jack spent the early part of the morning chivying the crew into sobriety sufficient to facilitate the swift provisioning of the ship. To be fair, the majority of them had heard about Jack's plans, thanks to Bootstrap's efforts the evening before, and were either sober or only a trifle fuddled when they reported for muster at the beginning of the morning watch. But there were a considerable number that either didn't show at all, or were much the worse for drink, having taken _carpe noctem_ as their motto since the _Pearl_ would soon be putting to sea once more, cutting short their leave.

By noon, however, all but a few Pearls were hard at work, acquiring stores, ferrying the crates and barrels out to the ship, helping to stow said crates and barrels, or otherwise preparing Jack's best girl to set sail. He'd assigned a third of the crew to refitting and primping, and by mid-afternoon the ship was much tidier and nearly ready for departure.

"Everyone'll be aboard by dusk, Captain," Bootstrap assured him. "Barbossa's on shore rounding up the last of 'em."

"Is he?" said Jack. "I appreciate his efforts. And yours, Bill, you've done well this day. Some sort of record, ain't it?"

Bill looked pleased. "There's more'n just me that's been longing for a visit home, Jack. I think you'll find most of the lads are with you on this."

"So I'd gathered, but it's good to have it confirmed." Jack glanced at the westering sun. "I'll go ashore, since everything's in hand. I've some business in town, and then I'll fetch our new cabin boy."

"You don't think the lads'll see through the disguise?" Bootstrap said, doubtfully.

"Maybe," Jack admitted. "If she's smoked I'll deal with it. But for now, remember: mum's the word."

But at sunset Jack returned to the little fishing village and the prospective cabin boy burst from Joe's house and ran down the steps to greet him.

"Parry Smith, at your service, Captain," Nell said with a creditable bow, then burst into excited speech. "I thought you'd never get here, but M'sieur Pêcheur assured me you were a man of your word, and Anamaria said you'd never leave without saying goodbye -- she's doing better now, the pain was considerable until the doctor came to give her more physick. And while she was napping, Constanze and I went into town to fetch my money, so I'm not penniless!"

Jack had been studying her with a critical eye during this recitation, and liked what he saw: a young gentleman in immaculate clothing, all stains removed, all rents neatly sewn, with shining hair tightly braided, clubbed and tied with a ribbon. The face was pretty, but not much prettier than he'd been himself as a lad – disagreeable, but not an insurmountable difficulty.

_She might do_, he thought, and when she finally paused for breath he broke in, voicing his approval. "Excellent news, Master Smith. And provided we can discourage you from rattling on nineteen to the dozen _like some girl_, this disguise of yours might very well succeed."

She blushed like fury.

Jack laughed, and chucked her under the chin.

**_TBC_**


	28. Adventure

**28 – Adventure - 550**

Joe sat in the stern of the _Jolly Mon_, guiding her over the water toward the _Black Pearl._ The _Pearl_ was the most beautiful ship in the bay, limned in gold in the wake of sunset, and Jack's pride in her was just. The pirate sat a little forward with Nell close beside him, telling her about his ship, and about some of the men who sailed her.

"You'll keep to the Great Cabin as much as you can 'til they get used to you runnin' about the ship on errands for me. Stay away from Barbossa. He's too sharp, and ill-tempered besides. Bill's your friend – I'll introduce you straight off –and there'll be others as we go along. You'll do fine, no worries, love."

Nell nodded with a smile, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Joe suspected she wasn't entirely easy, now that this adventure was becoming reality, and she could hardly be faulted for that. The _Pearl_ might be beautiful, but every inch of the ship was designed to intimidate, with a crew that was known all over the Caribbean, every man a fierce, successful pirate. How much of her reputation was enhanced by rumor and tall tales was debatable, but there was no doubt it had been established by the seeds of truth.

Joe suspected Nell was sad to leave his daughters, too. The events that had transpired in the short time she'd been with them had served to bind all their hearts. Nell would be missed by Constanze and Maribelle, and even by Anamaria, jealous as she was.

Ana had been very near tears when Jack had come to say goodbye, and might have given in to them if Nell hadn't been there. Joe's little one had expressed only brusque thanks for Jack's queenly gift of a bolt of peacock blue silk.

"It's for you and your sisters, but I picked it because it's _your_ favorite color," Jack said, preening at having remembered.

"How beautiful you'll be in it," Nell had told Ana, crouching beside the bed and taking her hand. "I wish I could see you. But Captain Sparrow will do so, when he returns, which is far better."

A look of understanding had passed between the two, and Ana's fingers had tightened on Nell's. But she had only choked, "Goodbye," and loosed her hand and turned away, closing her eyes.

Nell's own fingers now were keeping secret hold of the edge of Jack's coat, Joe noticed, and she stared at the _Pearl_ with wide eyes, the ship looming dark and enormous as they drew close, then closer.

But then a voice shouted: "Hey, you lubbers! Look lively! Captain's comin' aboard!" And a rope ladder was tossed over the side and lowered as a number of faces peered down at them in the gathering dusk.

With the ease of long experience, Joe luffed the sail and put the _Jolly Mon_ right alongside the _Pearl_, and Jack got up (leaving Nell's hand bereft), and went to grab the ladder.

Joe said to Nell, "Goodbye, little one. Take care."

And Nell, standing, turned back to him, saying, "Goodbye. And bless you all!"

Joe watched her bravely go forward to the ladder as Jack called jauntily back to him, "See you next time! And thanks again!"

**_TBC_**


	29. Sentence

**29 – Sentence - 300**

"What in blazes is this?"

The words fairly burst forth from the mouth of a big, fierce-looking man with reddish hair as soon as Nell peeked over the side of the ship. _Barbossa_. Jack had given Nell a brief and accurate description.

She'd followed Jack up the accommodation ladder and now her mentor grabbed her unceremoniously and hauled her up and onto the deck.

"All right?" he demanded, when she'd steadied.

She nodded once, silent and unsmiling, and furtively peered about at the ship and crew, her heart thumping.

"Come on, then," he said, and gave her a little shove to start her moving toward the back of the ship. _The stern_, she reminded herself. Jack was at her shoulder, and as he walked he said to Barbossa (and the rest that stood staring), "This halfling's me new cabin boy, Parry Smith. Friend of a friend, won't be in the way. He'll quarter with me."

"With _you?_" Barbossa exclaimed. "What—"

"Aye. He'll fetch and carry, tidy me things—but what's all this dawdling about? Are we ready to make sail?"

"Aye, Captain!" said several men.

"What are we waiting for, then? Mr. Barbossa?"

Barbossa, abandoning dissent, began to roar out orders in a voice that set the crew scurrying.

Jack herded Nell aft to the doors of the Great Cabin, set beneath the overhang of the quarterdeck, and pulled one side open. "You'll do better in here just now. You're not allowed on the quarterdeck with me, and Bill's too busy."

Nell went in. There were two hanging lanterns lit, but they made more shadows than light in the gloom. She turned back. "What should I do?"

"Tidy up!" Jack waved a hand as he glanced about his cluttered domain and said, ruefully, "Lord knows the place needs it!"

**_TBC_**


	30. Treasure

**30 – Treasure – 600**

The door closed and Nell, moving warily into the center of the cabin, realized Jack was given to understatement. From what she could see in the dim light, there was detritus of all sorts gracing the floor, the big table in the center of the room, a couple of the chairs, and spewing from a chest at the foot of the unmade bed that lay in the far corner, half-hidden by a fringed, brocade drape.

She took a deep breath. Let it out again, half-listening to the noises that came to her, faint but clear: Jack's voice and the thud of boots on the quarterdeck above and the myriad sounds of a ship preparing to set sail. Then, adopting one of Grandmother's tricks, she spoke to herself, firmly, aloud.

"_Well_. We'd best get started."

She went across to the gallery windows and drew the heavy, velvet drapes fully open, to catch the remaining light of dusk, and to watch the lamps of Tortuga fade behind when they should depart. Then she addressed the lanterns, which proved to have been merely turned down. Once Nell adjusted these (standing on a chair to reach), she could really assess the state of affairs.

_Not good_.

She turned slowly about, dismayed but enthralled. One's habits might reveal a great deal, but so did one's possessions. There were tankards, and plates of half-eaten food, and clothing tossed aside as too soiled or in need of mending, and debris, everything from dust to crumpled parchment to a much-abused but once-elegant _peruque_; but there were also fine, well-used instruments of navigation and many rolled up charts—with one beautiful specimen spread out upon the table, its corners weighted by a dish of fruit, an empty tankard, a conch shell, and a small gold statue of a naked man sitting cross-legged and grasping his outsized member with both hands (_Oh my!_ thought Nell, cheeks burning); books _everywhere_, single spies and battalions, and some still on the shelves that were built into the bulkheads; and an array of objects large and small, on more shelves, or in baskets, or on the floor, or tacked to the walls, that could only be labeled souvenirs.

And there were weapons, of course: a rack holding three swords, with room for more; a brace of pistols in an open case; and a variety of knives, some of them in a Chinese vase, the rest lying loose and wickedly beautiful.

It was Jack's cabin, without a doubt: erratic, eccentric, intelligent, dangerous. Fascinating.

The ship gave a perceptible lurch and Nell squawked, jumping quickly down from the chair. Then, wondering at the strangeness and the rather amusing absurdity of her situation, she went to work.

**_TBC_**


	31. North

**31 – North – 400 **

Jack took the helm to guide the _Pearl_ from Tortuga's crowded harbor, and kept it as they eased from the bay into the open sea, reveling once more in the fresh, clean breeze, the movement of the ship under his feet, the sense of freedom, unbound from land. He was quite looking forward to heading out into the Atlantic. Blue water sailing, they hadn't done any of that in many a day. And the _Pearl_ seemed to sense Jack's anticipation and elation at the prospect, sailing large in an evening breeze that was just abaft the beam, water hissing along her sides and her bow wake white in the rising moon.

"We'll head out northeast, by Grand Turks," he told Barbossa, who joined him briefly on the quarterdeck. "I've a couple of vile miscreants stashed in the brig I want to drop at Cockburn Town."

"Miscreants? Tortuga's full of miscreants."

"These were exceptional."

Barbossa sniffed. "A cabin boy, and now miscreants. If we'd stopped more'n four days the ship would've been full to the scuppers with the scaff and raff of Tortuga."

"It was an interesting few days of shore leave, sure enough," Jack agreed with a crooked smile.

Some time later, Bill came trotting up the companionway, grinning.

"And what are you so happy about, Mr. Turner?" Jack asked.

Bill said quietly, "Barbossa went to see those fellows of Claypool's in the brig."

Jack frowned. "He did, did he?"

"Aye. And got nothin'. They're both dead drunk. I gave 'em a few bottles, _for medicinal purposes_, when you told me you'd changed your mind about leaving 'em on Tortuga."

" Bill, it ain't only your sword that's sharp," Jack approved. "A sound idea, very sound indeed."

"Why thank you, Captain," Bill said with a bow. "We're takin' 'em to Cockburn Town? Barbossa told me."

"Aye. I suppose we'll have to stop and row 'em to shore, if they're that well-to-live. But we'll make sure they know Smith's with us. Don't want 'em going back to bother Joe and his people, and they're the sort that might."

Bill nodded. "How's Smith doing? I barely caught a glimpse."

"Fine, I expect. Straightening up me cabin. What else are cabin boys for?" Jack smirked, and batted his eyelashes, and Bill shook his head, though he chuckled, too. Jack said, "Go say hello! You can tell him I'll be there in a while."

_**TBC**_


	32. Coat

**32 - Coat - 450**

Bill rapped on the door of the Great Cabin before opening it and slipping inside, closing it behind him. There she was, stopped, startled, in the middle of room, holding a stack of several books. Putting them away? A quick look around informed him the place was improved already. Obviously she'd taken Jack's instructions to heart.

"I'm Bill Turner," he told her. "Or Bootstrap, as most of 'em call me. You're Mi—er… Smith?"

Her wariness eased. "Yes. Captain Sparrow told me about you. I'm so pleased to meet you."

He walked toward her, studying her. A little thing, five foot maybe, and that face! Too pretty by half. Dressed in a lady's gown, with her hair done up proper… Lord, it was no wonder Jack liked her. She was quite in his style, he liked a dainty piece, though seventeen was awfully young. She looked it, too, the big coat effectively disguising her assets. But he had a feeling she'd have a hard time filling out a fashionably low décolletage in any case.

How had she managed in Tortuga? And more to the point, how the devil did Jack think to fool Barbossa with this masquerade?

She must have seen his concern for her wariness returned. He came to a halt and tried to look friendly and unworried. "Pleased to meet you, too. I see you've been making good use of your time, making great inroads. Jack'll be pleased."

"Oh, I hope so!" She smiled back, and Bill's heart sank further. She went on, "He did give me leave to straighten things, and though there's probably a method to his… um… "

Bill chuckled. "You can say it: madness."

She flushed seashell pink. "He is, a little, but he's been so kind to me."

"I don't doubt it," said Bill with perfect truth.

"I don't want to move things I shouldn't. But there was a great deal to do besides straightening. His steward has been most remiss! There is a whole tray of dirty crockery that needs to be taken to the kitchen!"

"The _galley_," Bill corrected absently, amused at her indignant tone. "Jack doesn't have a steward, though you're right, someone should've seen to that."

"Yes. And there is so much laundry and mending to do." She nodded toward a pile of clothing in the corner.

"He's never been much for sewing," Bill admitted. "You're right: he does need a steward."

"Perhaps you can persuade him to hire one in England. For now I am very relieved I'll be able to be of such _use_ to him, and make him comfortable on the voyage!"

She smiled again, and Bill choked a bit. "Aye. Well. I daresay you will."

**_TBC_**


	33. Good and Evil

**33 – Good and Evil - 550**

Bill excused himself, saying he would take the tray of dirty crockery away to be washed, and that Jack would be down in an hour or so. "Though it might be more, a bit of weather coming up from the south, if I don't mistake matters. He likes to stay on deck in a blow."

The girl accepted this and bid him adieu, going back to her work even before he was out the door.

He handed the tray off to young Worley and returned to the quarterdeck. The wind was picking up, and Jack had that half maniacal glow that marked him when they were headed into a storm.

"Nice little squall coming, Bill. Just enough to make it int'resting."

"Pretty _int'resting_ below, too," Bill said.

Jack frowned. "She's all right, ain't she?"

"Seems to be, for all she's been stuck a month in Tortuga, though how long she'll stay that way is the question."

Jack gave a roll of his eyes. "Don't be nagging, Bill. I'm takin' 'er home is what it is, and my cabin's the safest place for her while I do it."

Bill sniffed. "Don't tell me you ain't prepared to seize the opportune moment, and she an innocent!"

"She's more fly to the time of day than you'd think. But no worries. I'll swing a hammock while she's with me." Jack shook his head. "What a scold you are. When I had Letty Granger to stay you was all for me putting her up in my cabin, and it was a far tighter squeeze."

"Letty was a widow!" Bill protested, remembering the rather colorless lady Jack had won in a duel, when Tobias had still been alive. Or trying to remember. He couldn't quite recall her face. "This… Smith is—"

"I know what she is, Mr. Turner," Jack hissed, impatiently. "None better. Didn't I spend the last two nights with her, and did I so much as try to kiss her?"

Jack might be captain, but Bill had to say it, and did, quiet but firm. "There's a special place in Hell reserved for blackguards who take advantage of innocents like that girl. A _special_ _place_."

But Jack just gave him a sharp, quizzical look. "You'll be knowing all about that, won't you, Bill? I know how old Mary is. To the day."

Bill flushed, thoughts of his wife, his Mary, and of their first time together rushing through his head. And Jack was right, Mary had been only sixteen, and he a man of twenty-two. But that'd been different. Something almost… _holy_. God, how he'd loved her… and how much he still did, longed for her with his whole being sometimes. Sudden anger welled in him. "Don't you _dare_ compare—"

"Bill!" Jack's sharp tone brought Bill back to a sense of where they were. Who they were. Jack went on, rather fierce. "It's not the same, no, but I'll not hurt her, Bill. I swear it. A six weeks' voyage and I'll deliver her safe and sound – _intact!_ – to her grandmother. Savvy?"

Bill's spurt of temper cooled, quick as it had warmed. "Aye. But—"

"No buts, not now. There's a squall comin' in." And Jack's eyes lit again as the first drops of rain came, spattering cold on their faces.

**_TBC_**


	34. Sickness and Health

**34 – Sickness and Health - 500**

It was nearly three hours before the weather and seas calmed enough so that Jack felt safe leaving his _Pearl_ in another's hands.

"Have 'em call me if there's any change, or if a ship's sighted," he instructed Barbossa, who now had the watch. "I'll turn in for a while."

"Aye, Captain," came the reply, facetiously respectful.

_Bloody Hector._

Yet thoughts of his new cabin boy were naturally brought to the fore by the oblique reference. Jack trotted down the companionway wondering what sort of changes she'd wrought among his effects, and it was with considerable interest, even besides that of a man smitten with a pretty and most intriguing maid, that he quietly entered, closed the door, and took in the scene. The lamps were still set low, yet it was immediately apparent she'd been busy. Order had not quite emerged from chaos (she hadn't touched the table, for example, save for removing the dirty dishes), but he could see she'd gathered all his discarded clothing in a corner (and he was sure there was still plenty in his sea chest; startling how many garments he'd acquired in the last few years), got rid of the crockery and rubbish, put as many books as would fit back on the shelves, piled those that wouldn't fit neatly nearby, and put all his collection of knives in the Chinese vase.

She'd made up his bed, too, and was now asleep on top of the covers, snoring softly, a volume of poetry lying open across her chest.

Delight put a grin on his face, but he was dripping wet and doubted she'd appreciate him sharing, so as quietly as he could he stripped off his hat, baldric, coat, waistcoat, and boots. His shirt and breeches were damp as well, but not dripping, and he didn't want to startle her with a show of nakedness. Not right off, at least.

She hadn't awakened, so he crossed the cabin to the bed and peered down at her. _She even snores pretty_. He chuckled aloud at the thought, quietly, but she stirred.

He sat down close beside her, removed the book from her slackened grasp and set it aside, and watched her rouse, noticing with a sudden frown that there was a bloodstained handkerchief wadded around the fingers of her right hand.

"What's this, love?" he asked as her eyes opened, slipping his hand under her apparently injured one.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, struggling up.

He helped her to sit, then drew away the handkerchief.

She said, "I cut it. On one of your knives. So clumsy of me."

It wasn't bad, but it looked raw and sore, and was now smeared with a little blood from pulling off the makeshift bandage. "Poor finger," he murmured, and, watching her expression, he slowly bent and took it into his mouth. The feel of it, the sharp taste of copper on his tongue, and the sound of the hitch in her breath, filled his senses.

_**TBC**_


	35. Lost

**35 – Lost – 525 **

"Oh!" she whispered, a shiver running through her, the feeling so intense she could barely think what to do. Well, no. She was _supposed_ to protest. Accordingly, she drew her brows together as he took her finger from his mouth, the air chilling its dampness, his kiss briefly heating it again . She said sternly, "_You_ are a dangerous man!" But even as she said it she could feel the corners of her mouth tilting up.

He looked at her impishly. "_You_ knew that."

"Yes." She couldn't help smiling, but she had to ask. "Are you going to ravish me?"

The impish look vanished, and he said, rather tartly, "No! Lord, Bill would cut out me liver. And if he didn't your relatives would, when I get you home."

"Oh," she said again, and found that she was extremely disappointed.

"Provided these relatives exist," he went on. "You haven't even told me your real name, _Miss Smith_."

"It's Carlisle," she said, immediately.

"Of _the_ Carlisles?"

"My grandmother is a cousin, so I am twice removed, but yes."

He looked impressed. Or wary.

"That won't make any difference, will it?" she asked, suddenly regretting her impulsive wish to be honest with him. "I mean…"

He smiled slowly. "You mean what?"

Her own smile returned, and she lifted her hand, her finger… and dared to run it feather light over his plump lower lip. "I've never felt anything like that," she confessed, staring at his mouth.

He caught the finger, the hand, and held it warm in his own. He said, rather primly, "I should think not."

A gurgle of laughter escaped her. "No, but will you not show me more?"

"Nell…"

She went on, quickly, lightly, though she would _perish_ if he wouldn't consent. "I daresay you have been with a great many women, handsome as you are, and a pirate besides, and you will know just how to go about it."

He raised a brow, her flattery having missed the mark entirely. "Haven't been with a great many virgins, however."

There was no use in denial. Or was there? She considered.

But his eyes narrowed, and he bent close. "If you lie to me, there'll be _consequences_." And his lips brushed her cheek.

She shivered again. "Consequences?" She turned her face, her lips were nearly touching his. Nearly.

And then _were_. He was kissing her, slow and soft, tasting with a flick of tongue against her lower lip, breathing deep. And when she reached up once more, to caress his cheek, and his sparse, neat beard, and kissed back with equal care, she felt that shiver run though _him_, and his breath stuttered.

He broke it off, and stared. Silence reigned for one uncertain moment until, suddenly frightened that she'd ruined it, she whispered, "Did I do it wrong?"

He gave a kind of desperate laugh, and closed his eyes. Then opened them again. "Nell, you're going to be the death of me. But by God, I'll die a happy man."

**_TBC_**


	36. Court

**36 - Court - 450**

He kissed her again, a brief, sweet contact, but then he got up off the bed and said, rather ruefully, "I'd best swing that hammock."

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed, and then blushed hotly.

He grinned and got down to rummage under the bed, replying, "Oh, _yes!_ For one thing… I assured Bill I would… long as you're here… and for another…" He brought out the roll of canvas and stood up. "I slept maybe an hour last night, if you'll recall. I don't need much, but I'm feeling the lack, which won't do, not as things stand."

Her disappointment was acute, but she felt that begging him to sleep with her might give him entirely the wrong impression. She was _not_ a light woman, even if she did positively _ache_ for him with every atom of her being. She said, firmly, getting up, "If you don't wish to share, as we did these last two nights, _I_ shall take the hammock! It would be beyond anything for me to appropriate your bed."

He snorted. "Have you ever slept in one of these?" he asked, unrolling it.

"No."

"Well, I reckon watching you try would afford me hours of amusement but, again, not much sleep."

She sadly sat on the edge of the bed and watched him attach the hammock to its hooks, and when he was done arranging it and he turned to her, he laughed outright.

"Don't look like that!" he said, coming over and taking up her hands, and kissing them, each in turn. "It's just for tonight, love, my word on't. If you're amenable, we'll share the bed, starting tomorrow."

"I am _infi_… um… _most_ amenable," she said, somewhat relieved. "But what about Mr. Turner?"

"I said I'd _swing_ the hammock every night, not that I'd _sleep_ in it." He winked at her and she started to smile, but then his fingers closed purposefully on hers. "Come, I'll do up that cut for you. Shouldn't take more'n half a dozen stitches."

"_What?_" She pulled at her hand.

"It's a joke, darlin'. Come!"

But the subsequent cleaning of the cut with spirits hurt dreadfully and though she managed not to screech, tears sprang to her eyes and, shamefully, a few escaped to slip down her cheeks before he was finished daubing with salve and tying it with a neat bandage.

"Poor brave Nell," he murmured, wiping her tears away with his own fingers. Then he drew her close for more kisses, kisses that soothed yet thrilled so deliciously that after they'd retired to bed and hammock, the intimacy of them, and of his restrained yet eager touch, colored her dreams a rosy hue all rest of the night.

_**TBC**_


	37. What if?

**37 – What if? - 500**

Jack lay awake in the hammock for a surprisingly long time after he'd snuffed the lamps. Nell was tucked into his bed and curled on her side so there was no snoring now, however pretty, just the low, booming tones of the sea and the watch bell sounding, a soothing background for his tired, yet diverse thoughts.

_Are you going to ravish me? _

That was almost exactly what Letty Granger had asked him her first night with him, and it caused him to wonder: did he _look_ like the sort of dog who'd force his attentions on a woman? Nell didn't mean it the same way, of course, and he was probably foolish to refine upon it. She'd certainly trusted him enough to enjoy his kisses.

As he'd enjoyed hers. He mused on the excellence of those kisses for a time. He wanted more. Much more. But kissing her was one thing. Bedding her was something else entirely.

He'd had a great many women in his life, just as she suspected, but never a maid untouched. He'd heard stories, naturally enough, but they were mostly unfavorable, Bill's experience with his Mary being a notable exception. Generally virgins were accounted more trouble than they were worth, their inexperience hindering or even negating the pleasure of one or both parties, and their tendency to take such things far too seriously resulting in difficulties that ranged from lovelorn tears to a wedding at sword's point, if the lass in question had inconvenient relatives. Or worse. _Far_ worse, if they were _extremely_ inconvenient, and it was all too possible Nell's relatives could be counted among the latter. The Carlisles were a powerful family. Nell might be twice removed, but that was close enough to make things devilish hot for the man who stole what he'd no right to.

Why, Claypool might be counted fortunate to have had Nell removed from his blackguardly orbit!

As for himself… Jack rather thought his luck would see him through. He wanted more and he would have it. That shy diffidence contrasted with the eagerness to learn, to please and be pleased, was too fascinating. There was much he could teach her, but he'd not ruin her, not for the world. A line had to be drawn, for her good, as well as his.

Bill wouldn't approve, but that didn't bother Jack as much as the thought that Tobias wouldn't have approved, either. Jack's mentor, God rest him, had always been set against keeping a woman aboard, hadn't even allowed them on the _Pearl_ when they were in port. "Bad luck, some say; all I know is it breeds discontent among the crew," John had told him early on, and Jack had never strayed from this precept. Never been tempted to, really.

Until now.

Well, if her sex could be hidden, so much the better. If she was smoked (and Jack had a feeling Barbossa suspected already), he'd just have to talk them around to his way of thinking.

_**TBC**_


	38. Island

**38 – Island – 500**

"Captain! Captain, we're comin' up on Grand Turks!" The voice was accompanied by a pounding on the cabin door, and Jack was awake and rolling from the hammock before the echo died away.

"What is it?" came Nell's voice from his bed, sleepy and querulous.

Jack yelled at the door, "I'll be there directly!" and turned up the nearest lantern. Dawn was still at least an hour off. As he fetched his discarded and still rather damp accoutrements, he said to Nell, "We're offloading Claypool's dogs at Cockburn Town. Didn't expect to arrive so soon, but that storm pushed us along at a spanking pace, and in the right direction for once. Get up and get dressed."

"Must I?"

"Aye. You don't want to see them, I know, but I want _them_ to see you and go to Claypool, not back to Tortuga."

"Would they bother Joseph and his family?" Nell exclaimed. She threw off the covers.

"All too possible," Jack said, pleased she was so quick. Also pleased by the sight of her slim, bare legs, and of that round backside, covered only by the tails of her shirt as she bent to retrieve her breeches. His fingers itched – the least uncomfortable of the physical manifestations she engendered. _Tonight_, he promised himself.

"Won't they identify me? To your men?" she asked as she dressed.

"Bill gave 'em a mort of liquor, to ease their hurts and scotch their capacity to turn King's evidence. Sorry, I mean _several bottles_ of liquor."

"I am quite conversant with thieves' cant, thank you," said Nell, glancing at him with a raised brow. "Tortuga is a most educational environment."

Jack gave a bark of laughter, and she grinned in response.

But she was not smiling at all, later, when she joined him on deck in the gray light of dawn.

"Come here, lad," Jack said, sharply, for many of his crew had heard what was afoot and had come on deck to witness the proceedings, and Barbossa's eyes were on Nell as he watched her cross the deck to Jack's side. Jack turned to Bootstrap. "Is the boat ready?"

"Aye," said Bootstrap, "and the prisoners." He jerked his head toward the open hatchway and there they were, emerging under a guard that half prodded, half supported. They were obviously drunk, and looked mighty sick, too, as they shuffled and staggered to the gangway.

Jack walked over, with Nell beside him. "Gents, Grand Turk's just over there, and Cockburn Town awaits. My lads'll drop you on the beach. Can't say fairer than that. Off with you now, down the ladder and into the boat."

The two gaped blearily, and the one Jack had shot turned and started down the ladder, but before the other, the one who'd broken Anamaria's arm (however inadvertently) could follow suit, he noticed Nell standing there and began to point and stutter: "You! 't's you, you damned bi—"

His words were cut off by Jack's backhanded blow. "Throw him over," Jack commanded, and it was done in a trice, with a roar of enthusiasm. Jack, Nell, and most of those present were at the side in time to watch the vile miscreant hit the water, two feet from the boat, and the crew hooted and yelled obscenities as he was hauled aboard.

Once there, however, he pawed and yammered at his mate, and gestured upward, and even the rowers turned to look.

"Bloody hell!" muttered Jack.

"Or is it _damned bitch_?" Barbossa asked over Nell's head, his eyes a-glint.

Jack ground his teeth. Then he snapped, "Muster all hands, Mr. Barbossa!"

**_TBC_**


	39. That can't be

**39 – That can't be – 800**

Barbossa said, "Aye, sir," mostly concealing the mockery in his tone. Then he flashed a glance at the girl and was taken aback to see her glaring at him, seemingly unafraid. Before he could react with anything but surprise she turned away, following Sparrow. A kit with claws! The cheeky brat was in need of a sharp lesson, and she'd get it if she were around long enough.

He turned in the opposite direction and bawled, "All hands! All hands muster at the break of the quarterdeck!" The men scurried to obey, curious as to what their captain would tell them, and Hector was mighty curious himself, wondering what yarn Jack thought to spin that could justify keeping his dollymop in the Great Cabin.

The girl followed Jack up to the quarterdeck and stood beside him, practically unheard of in itself. Barbossa stayed below, off to the side and toward the front, where he could see both Jack, the girl, and the reactions of the gathering crew.

Jack raised his hands, and the din of talk died. "Gentlemen," he began, "I'm going to come clean with you, and each of you will judge as to whether I was right to consider deception might be the course proper to this situation, considering who we are and who this is. For the truth is, this cabin boy _ain't_. She's a young girl, and gently bred." There was a noise of surprise, and some derision, but Jack raised his hands again and it faded. "I know, I know. Appearances. But we all know about that, don't we? This is Miss Helen Smith, and she's been in some trouble through no fault of her own. Came out to the Caribbee to live with her mother and new stepfather, _Harrison Claypool_."

A ripple of shocked disapproval now. Claypool had a bad reputation, for certain, and even Barbossa found himself frowning.

Jack nodded. "Aye, we've all heard tales. Well, Nell here knows him too well – or would have. Her mother died of the Yellowjack not two months back, and she was still in weeds when Claypool started throwing out hints. Had designs on her _person_, if you get me drift."

Here the girl's gaze dropped. She looked blushing, devastated, and Barbossa cursed, for a murmur of sympathy swept through the crowd.

Jack went on. "She escaped, but ended up in Tortuga, where I happened on her, but she'd been followed by those who've just debarked for Grand Turk: thugs in Claypool's hire, and a rare time we had with 'em, before Joe Pêcheur and his friends helped me lock 'em up. Nell was knocked on the head, and little Anamaria – Joe's youngest, you remember – got her arm broken by that one you threw over the side."

Most of them knew Joe and his daughters and there were considerable signs of outrage, and satisfaction that they'd served Claypool's man thus. Barbossa couldn't let it pass. He shouted, "So what's she doing on the _Pearl_, and stayin' in _your cabin?_" The cheering abruptly died.

"She's goin' back to England," said Jack. "Back to her old granny, and she's staying in my cabin to keep her out of harm's way. Young as she is, I know she'll be a temptation to some of you, and I'm here to tell you now, she's under _my protection_. Touch her and you'll pay dear. Meanwhile, she gets the bed, I swing a hammock, and there's likely a fat reward, enough for all of us when we bring her home safe."

"Her granny's rich, then?" cried one credulous fool.

"Aye, she is. And in the meantime, we'll be looking for ripe pickings as we sail – you'll recall those two fat merchants we caught off the Canaries the last time we was home. Nigh on two years it's been."

Agreement, and nodding of heads. Barbossa scowled. "And you expect us to believe _you'll_ leave her be?"

Jack pouted, and narrowed his whorish eyes. "You'd best believe it. Every one of you. She'll pay for her passage cleaning and sewing, polishing weapons, and helping Cook in the galley. To all intents and purposes she's my cabin boy, and the first man who forgets that'll have his choice of two dozen lashes or a long swim home – and _no share of the prizes_. Savvy?"

There was more nodding of heads.

"Right, then. We've done well for ourselves these two years since you made me captain, and I'll not lead you astray now. What say you? Do we have an accord?"

"Aye!" came the shouts, with some more cheering, and the girl looked up, all shy and flushed and smiling.

Barbossa seethed, but had to acknowledge, once again, the efficacy of Jack's showmanship, and his way of twisting lies with the truth 'til they were all one.

**_TBC_**


	40. Prophesy

**40 - Prophesy - 550**

Bill approached Jack and Nell as they descended the companionway from the quarterdeck. He said, quiet but firm, "That was well done, Captain, make things easier all around, I reckon."

"Maybe." Jack glanced at Barbossa's retreating back, his particular cronies at his heels as he shoved his way forward. "Come to my cabin for a bite when we're underway again, Bill. I've got an important task for you and it'll go best after coffee and toast."

Half an hour later, Claypool's men were shrinking into the distance, trudging along the beach in the direction of Cockburn Town, and the _Pearl_ was skipping away from Grand Turk Island in the steady, storm-fresh morning breeze. The sails having been set to a nicety, the watches were called to breakfast, and Jack handed the wheel off and joined Bill as he headed for the Great Cabin.

They both went in and Bill gave a whistle of appreciation. It was evident that Nell had made further progress in organization and cleaning. She'd already tidied the bed, and tied back the heavy drapes over the windows, allowing the sun to shine on furnishings that were unusually free of dust. Breakfast was laid out, too, steam issuing from the various porcelain dishes on the big table, which had been cleared for the purpose with Jack's permission, and set with china and flatware of the finest quality.

"One could get used to this in a hurry, eh?" said Jack. "Nell, darlin', come and have breakfast. It's been a long morning already and no mistake."

Jack and Bill ate heartily, Nell rather less so, though she seemed cheerful enough, and the three finished the meal with another pot of coffee, brought to the cabin by Cook himself, a burley, ill-favored gent, with a patch over a missing eye and a decided limp due to his losing half a foot during an action when he was a member of the Royal Navy. He was a good cook, though exacting in his ways and something of a curmudgeon, but it was evident that he liked Nell. He beamed at her in gap-toothed approval, and God love her, she returned his regard in the friendliest fashion, not a bit put off by his rough appearance.

Cook said, "Smith here told me she's to lend a hand in the galley, Captain, and I give ye thanks. You know how I've needed a good lad to help – or lass, as is the case here. We'll have some very fine victuals this voyage, very fine indeed!"

The weighty "very fine victuals" came out _werry foine wittles_, and Nell giggled, but so far from taking offense was Cook that he only simpered at her and winked his one eye.

"I see she's won you over," Jack observed with considerable surprise. He'd sent many a "good lad" to the galley to help Cook, and each had been thrown out in days, if not hours, after being vilified for laziness or "sauce" or both. "Nell can join you later, if she likes, to help prepare dinner, but just now I want Bootstrap to take her around the ship, show her where things are and where it's safe to go, and where it's not. How does that sound, Smith?"

"I should like it very much!" said Nell, agreeably.

**_TBC_**


	41. Ten Years Later

**41 – Ten Years Later – 500**

Cook returned to his domain, Jack slipped a small, prettily embossed, but effectively sharp knife into Nell's pocket – _Just in case!_ – and Bill took her off for a thorough tour of the ship. Nell, who was possessed of a good memory and sense of direction, thought she could henceforth find her way to the areas of the ship that were open to her, but soon found herself floundering in nautical detail when Bill began going over the elements of sail and rigging.

"I shall never remember the half of this!" she exclaimed when he paused for a moment.

"You'll find you remember more than you think, it'll come to you at odd times, just when you need it. These are things any sailor knows, but I expect Jack'll tell you more about the _Pearl_ and the finer points of sailing. He's a dab hand at navigation, never seen anyone to match him, and he drew most of the charts in his cabin himself – was apprenticed to a cartographer at one time. Navigation's what'll keep me from rising higher than quartermaster. I never was much for the numbers. Barbossa's the only other man on the ship that can navigate, but he can't hold a candle to Jack."

Nell was extremely pleased to hear such praise, for Bootstrap Bill might be Jack's friend, but she felt he was a man who would commend only when and where it was due. "Can we go aloft, to examine the sails and rigging closer?" she asked him. "I always wished to, when we were coming across from England, but could not, of course, in my skirts. I think I would learn a great deal, and remember more of what you're telling me."

Bill looked doubtful. "Could be Jack'll take you up himself. You can ask him about that at dinner. Speaking of which, we'd better take you down to the galley. Cook's a stickler for punctuality, Naval fashion."

When they appeared, prompt to the minute, Cook exclaimed, "There's me galley mate, just in time! Bootstrap, you just take yourself off, I'll take care of this one."

Fortunately, Cook decided Nell should be trained by doing and spared her much verbal instruction, for the present. "You'll learn as ye go, and much of it takes more brawn than you'll ever have. But I'll teach ye to prepare some o' the dainties the Captain enjoys, and you can help with the victuals the crew gets – Dog's Body, Drowned Baby and the like. Sausages, too. I've been perfecting me recipe these twenty years an' more, and there's not a man on the _Pearl_ that can resist a sausage toasted by yours truly."

"Twenty years!" exclaimed Nell. "You've been a cook for that long?"

"Aye, ten years in the Royal Navy, and ten out of it. Signed on with John Tobias a couple of years before they dragged the Captain up from the bilges, a skinny young stowaway he was, but John saw the possibilities in him right off. Here you go, now, you sit here and peel these here potatoes for me. They're a bit newfangled for the men, but the Captain's right fond of 'em."

"I shall be glad to, but will you tell me everything?"

"Everything? About Cap'n Jack, d'ye mean?"

"Yes, but about you too, and about the Navy, and… and how you lost your eye… and everything!"

"Well, if that ain't a tall order!" Cook chuckled, looking extremely gratified. "Very well, Missy, you peel and I'll talk. But mark you, it'll take the length of the bloody voyage to England to tell all of it."

*

Notes: Cook's recipes, taken from _Lobscouse and Spotted Dog_ by Anne Chotzinoff Grossman and Lisa Grossman Thomas.

**Dog's Body**

1 pound dried split peas

6 oz. salt pork in ½-inch dice (or ¼ pound (1 stick) of butter for a more delicate, less seamanlike pudding)

4 tablespoons flour

1 teaspoon salt

Pepper

Tie the peas loosely in a pudding-cloth. Place in a large pot with boiling water to cover. Simmer, covered, 1 ½ hours. As the peas cook, you may occasionally need to add more boiling water. It is also a good idea to lift the

pudding-cloth now and then to keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pot.

Remove the pudding-cloth from the pot and place it in a strainer. When it is cool enough to handle, squeeze out as much liquid as possible. Untie the cloth and scrape the peas into a bowl. Add the pork, flour, and salt, and pepper to taste. Mix well. Put the mixture back into the cloth and tie it as tightly as possible. Place the pudding in a fresh pot of boiling water and cook for one hour.

Remove the pudding-cloth from the pot, untie it, and carefully turn the pudding out into a serving dish.

Serves 8 as a side dish.

*

**Drowned Baby**

4 cups flour

¼ cup sugar

½ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 ½ cup raisins

½ pound suet, finely grated

Ice Water

In a large bowl mix the flour, sugar, salt and cinnamon. Stir in the raisins, breaking them apart (the flour will coat them and keep them from clumping together). Mix in the suet.

Work in 1-2 tablespoons of ice water. Continue gradually adding ice water until you have a stiff paste (it will probably take about a cup of ice water, but this will bary depending on temperature, humidity, the dryness of your flour, etc.). Work it with your hands until it forms a ball. Turn it out onto a well-floured board. Cover with a damp cloth and let rest for 5 minutes.

Knead the dough until it is shiny and elastic (6-8 minutes), cover again, let rest another 5 minutes, then knead again for 1-2 minutes.

Shape the dough into a nice, fat, vaguely cylindrical lump. Wrap the pudding fairly loosely in a well-floured cloth. Tie securely at both ends (we usually also tie a string loosely around the middle, to keep the cloth from gaping). Immerse the pudding in a pot of rapidly boiling water and cook for 2 ½ hours, replenishing the water as necessary.

To serve, untie and unroll the cloth. Turn the pudding out onto a board or platter. Serve hot, accompanied by Custard Sauce.

Serves 12-16

*

**_TBC_**


	42. French

**42 – French – 600**

The potatoes received lavish praise from Jack and Bill, and even Barbossa, who also attended, looked pleased with the dish, if not particularly with Nell. Nell thanked them, but merely said Cook had shown her how to prepare them. She spoke little during the meal, but her gaze was repeatedly drawn to Jack, and with an amused gleam. _Bloody Cook_, Jack thought, knowing how the man loved to gossip. But Jack had a great regard for Cook, too, for his fortitude, general good humor, and skill in the galley, and he knew Cook liked him and respected him as captain. The worst Nell might have heard were discomfiting tales of Jack's early days on the _Pearl_.

Toward the end of the meal, however, there came a pause in conversation and Nell spoke up. "Captain Sparrow, Mr. Turner said you might be persuaded to allow me to accompany you aloft, to the fighting top, to view the sails and rigging from a different perspective. Do you think we might do that when I've done clearing up?"

Barbossa gave a scornful chuff. "She'll end a splat on the deck, belike."

Jack, who had thought the same thing on hearing Nell's request, immediately turned perverse and said, "No, she'll do. We were all of us novices at one time, eh? You don't mind heights, lass?"

"Oh, no!" said Nell, excitedly. "At least… I have never had the chance to find out, but I'm sure I'll be fine, if you are with me."

Barbossa gave a roll of his eyes and excused himself. Cook passed him, coming into the cabin, asked what was toward, and upon being told he shooed Jack and Nell off for their new adventure.

"I'll take care of clearing the table this time, Captain; you just take care of me galley mate. Clap on tight, lass, one hand for the ship, one hand for yourself, and mind the swell!"

Jack repeated Cook's advice at least a half dozen times before Nell achieved the fighting top, along with, "Don't look down!" when he noticed her doing so, with eyes like saucers. It was, indeed, an Adventure, for both of them, hair-raising, strenuous, and ultimately most satisfying. Having gone ahead, by the more precarious route around the edge of the lofty platform, Jack pulled her up the last of it by main force, through the lubber's hole, and there she stood, gasping at the exertion and gaping at the view.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" she exclaimed. "It's like _flying!_"

"So it is," said Jack. "Just don't go imagining you'll float off like a cloud if you jump."

"Jump! I'm not certain I'll be able to _crawl_ down from such a height."

"No worries, love, I'll help you." She turned her head, meeting his eyes with such affection that his heart swelled. "You keep looking at me like that and I shall have to kiss you," he threatened, "whether we can be seen or no!"

"Oh, dear!" she laughed, and turned away, but leaned back against him somewhat more than the motion of the ship would account for. But then, suddenly, she straightened and pointed with her free hand. "What is that? Is it another ship?"

Jack squinted into the wind, scanning the horizon. He could just see something... "Hold tight," he ordered, rummaging in his coat pocket. He pulled out his spyglass and set it to his eye, and sure enough, there it was, a ship hull down on the horizon, until the seas lifted her into sight as though served on a silver platter. "By God, if it ain't a French merchantman!"

_**TBC**_


	43. Deed

**43 – Deed – 450**

"Sit here, hang on tight, and admire the view," Jack instructed Nell, carefully but urgently pressing her to do so. "I'll send Bootstrap up."

And then he was gone, descending with startling speed and apelike dexterity. He started shouting orders even before he gained the deck, and she could hear him faint but clear from her lofty, swaying perch. Instantly there were men swarming everywhere, up the ratlines, out onto the yards, obeying Jack's orders to trim and brace and crack on more sail with wonderful enthusiasm.

Nell made herself as small as possible, clinging as men moved around her, and presently she was treated to the sight of the _Pearl_ turning in a wide arc to her new bearing, every sail set to catch the light but steady airs. The ship's wake spread out behind for more than a mile, and her bow wave rose higher and whiter as her speed increased. She was beautiful, dark, deadly, and swift, and the spark of elation that had emanated from Jack and expanded to engulf the crew caught Nell, too, and she laughed aloud.

Finally, Bootstrap came for her. "All right, _Lucky Nell_, let's get you down from here. Remember,_ clap on tight, one hand for the ship, one hand for yourself _–

"—_and mind the swell!_" she joined in, with a grin.

Her expression turned to one of grim determination as they descended, for it seemed to her that climbing down was far more frightening than climbing up. She set each foot and hand with redoubled care, and all the while marveled anew at the ease with which Jack, and indeed most of the crew, moved about when aloft.

When she finally jumped the final few feet to land on the black deck, Jack was there, coming to her and hoisting her up a few inches with joyous strength to kiss both her cheeks.

"_Lucky Nell!_" he exclaimed, setting her down again, and he said to those nearby, "She saw that Frenchie first, lads, I told you she'd bring us good fortune, did I not?"

There was laughter, and back-slapping (somewhat painful, this) and general cheer, and Nell's heart soared.

But then she found herself standing at the rail between Jack and Barbossa, and studying the French ship, now hull-up and visible in more detail.

Jack turned away to give some instruction to Bootstrap, and Barbossa took the opportunity to speak. "Ever seen a piratical action, _Lucky Nell?_"

Nell looked up at him. His face held amusement, contempt, even a modicum of pity; his eyes revealed a man apt to cold-blooded violence. Her heart, soaring only moments before, froze.

She did not reply, but peered out again at their prey.

**_TBC_**


	44. Tea

**44 – Tea – 500**

They took their time stalking the French ship, maneuvering for the "weather gauge" (which Nell couldn't quite understand even after it was explained to her), honing weapons, shifting stores to make room for the treasures they anticipated bringing aboard, and they were well out into the Atlantic by the time the _Pearl_ began to close in for the kill, more than twenty-four hours after Nell had first made the sighting.

"Puts their nerves on edge," Jack told her, flashing a sly grin before going back to sharpening his favorite sword.

Nell was quite sure it did, for she felt extremely nervous herself.

He had not come to bed the night before, but had stayed on deck to observe the chase, which could be clearly seen in the waning but still bright moon. Her own dreams had been troubled by visions of terrible bloodshed, and Jack's laughing face turning to Barbossa's leer.

_Lucky Nell!_

The French ship was appreciably closer in the morning. Breakfast in the main cabin had the air of a war council, and then Jack said he would try for a few hours of shuteye, since all was in train to close with their prey come mid-afternoon.

Nell left him to his nap. She was reluctant to confide her fears to Jack, but down in the galley, helping once again with preparations for dinner, she finally spoke to Cook when he asked, "Now what's got you so blue-devilled, missy?"

"Will there be much killing?" Nell asked bluntly.

"Ah!" Cook nodded. "I thought that might be it. No, not much, if any, not if Captain Sparrow has his way."

"But Mr. Barbossa—"

"He'll behave. There was a bit of a struggle between 'em when Tobias was killed and Jack was voted captain – by a wide margin, though it weren't unanimous. Jack threw 'im in the brig for a couple of days once, early on, and when he was let out he was told he'd follow orders from that day or leave the _Pearl_. Well, Hector couldn't leave, he loves the _Pearl_ near as much as Jack. So he curbs his violent tendencies, and bides his time. Jack's a fool to have him for first, but there you go. Hector's near as skilled as Jack in most ways, and better in some. Better at handling a sword, for one thing, though Bootstrap's the best on the ship. But no one's more ruthless than Hector, when he's given free rein. He ain't as likeable as Jack, though, and so far that's tipped the scales."

Cook lumbered over and put a kettle on the stove. "Hot cup of tea'll set you up, Lucky Nell."

"Oh, don't call me that!" Nell exclaimed, remembering how Barbossa had spoiled the phrase.

"Now, now, belay such talk. Don't you go a-lookin' at gift horses, the _captain_ gave you the moniker and no one knows more about the value of words than he! Bear up, missy, bear up and put your faith in Captain Jack Sparrow!"

_**TBC**_


	45. Scarlett and Giselle

**45 – Scarlett and Giselle – 450**

Her name was the _Écarlate_, and her captain, Armand Récamier, nephew of one of the richest men in France, was about to fail his uncle, as well as his illustrious passengers, Henri Pelletier and his wife, Louise, returning to France after three years in Cap-Français, Hispaniola.

Pelletier was a retired diplomat and had brought Madame to the isle for her health, after an inflammation of the lung had nearly carried her off one cold Paris winter. The fact that the Pelletiers had large investments on Hispaniola had been entirely secondary to the matter. Madame Louise must have the greatest care, the most salubrious climate, and the Parisian doctor who had prescribed for her and seen her through the worst of the malady, had recommended Cap-Français as an idyllic setting, sure to benefit Madame's impaired health.

But though Madame's health had indeed been almost entirely restored, her spouse had eventually succumbed to the ague, indigent to the island. For this reason, and because their daughter had written to tell them that they would soon have the pleasure to be addressed as grand-mère et grand-père, they were most anxious to return to France immediately, bringing along the many small comforts they had shipped from France three years before, to which a few minor purchases had been added while they were in residence on the island.

The small comforts – everything from furniture to jewelry to Madame's spoiled and very beautiful cat, Giselle – occupied nearly half the available area of the ship, while the other half was taken up by the usual load of spices, indigo, and excellent tobacco. In effect, the _Écarlate _was a miniature treasure ship, and though she was possessed of a few well-polished guns, her crew had seldom used them even for practice and it would surely have been wise to wait for the usual well-armed escort to be readied. Unfortunately, the Pelletiers were in a great hurry, a very great hurry, Madame must not be away from her daughter at such a time, and Monsieur Henri had taken it upon himself to provide an extra incentive to Captain Récamier, a token of their faith that he would deliver them quickly and safely to France.

Captain Récamier looked out at the shadowed monstrosity that was in the final stages of bearing down on his beautiful _Écarlate_. He raised his glass to study the evil, grinning faces lining the side, every one of them seemingly slavering for his demise. Moments before, a warning shot had been fired, whooshing over the bow inches from his second mate.

"Armand, when will you learn to trust your own judgment?" he said to himself, and then, regretfully, gave the order to lower the colors.

**_TBC_**


	46. Link

**46 – Link – 400**

"They've struck their colors!" Jack cried, and a roar went up around them. Bill saw Barbossa and a number of those near him scowl and curse, but the majority of the Pearls were overjoyed to have such easy pickings this time around – a few were still recovering from wounds they'd taken in recent weeks, in other successful actions. Their leave in Tortuga hadn't been near enough, not for any of them, and if it hadn't been for the promise of home there'd be more discontented than just Barbossa and his mates.

Jack turned to him and yelled over the din, "Run down to the orlop for Nell, she can watch from the afterdeck."

Bill went to fetch the girl, and found her sitting all forlorn on a stack of spare sails, the single lamp barely lighting her little corner.

"Mr. Turner! What's happening?" she asked, rather fearfully.

"They've struck their colors, and Jack thinks it's safe for you to come topside to watch, if you don't make yourself conspicuous. Not a shot fired, nor like to be now."

She brightened. "How wonderful! But why?"

Bill shrugged. "The _Pearl_'s well known in these waters and faith, she looks a terror coming up on you, guns and hands all ready for sport."

"Sport!"

"You know what I mean. Let's get up there!"

When they reached the main deck, the _Pearl_ had already drawn much closer to the French ship, and as Bill towed Nell through the crowd toward the companionway to the quarterdeck, grapnels were being thrown. "Seas are so calm we might be able to stretch planks across, once she's secured," Bill told her.

As they reached the afterdeck, Jack and a few others swung out over the water on ropes to land on the Frenchie's deck. Nell gasped, sounding both thrilled and horrified. Bill nudged her, and directed her gaze upward. The sharpshooters could be clearly seen, and Nell gave an, "Oh!" of relief.

"Stay here, or go down to Jack's cabin if you get bored. We'll be a while moving the swag over. See how low in the water she rides? 'Pears she just headed out from Hispaniola, though why she lacks an escort is the question. Not that we're complaining." He smiled at Nell, standing by the rail, her eyes glued on Jack. "You keep your head down, lass, just in case," he admonished, and took himself off.

**_TBC_**


	47. Comedy

**47 – Comedy – 700**

Jack seemed extremely pleased with the action, which barely qualified as an action at all, really. There had been some resistance from several Écarlates who had differed with Capitaine Récamier as to the necessity of surrendering to the _Pearl_'s obviously superior force, enough to provide some of that "sport" Bill had so offhandedly mentioned to Nell, though not enough to satisfy Barbossa. The dissenters were disarmed without much difficulty or damage, however, and, along with the remaining Écarlates, were stripped of everything but their breeches and locked up in the bilge, all except their captain, to whom Jack had taken a liking.

Bill had to admire Récamier's patience. Jack made the man sit in the _Écarlate_'s Great Cabin while one of the smaller cabins was made ready to receive him by being stripped of every bit of its contents, including the bedding. While these preparations were going forth, Jack casually sorted through the man's belongings and at the same time bombarded him with questions, alternating these with pithy bits of advice. By the time Jack allowed Bill to take him away, Récamier's face was very red, the picture of gallic exasperation and chagrin.

"He is a _madman!_" Récamier said in English, this following a spate of muttering that Bill, who had little French, took to be epithets and outright curses. "How can you follow such a captain? And he is barely more than a boy! It is an absurdity!"

"He ain't much younger than you, I reckon," Bill replied, "and you'll do well to thank the good Lord he's as mad as he is – any number of others would've spared you the talk in favor of cold steel."

With that, he shoved the _capitaine_ inside the bare, closet-sized cabin, shut and bolted the door, and instructed the two Pearls who'd accompanied him to keep a guard on it.

Bill went back up on deck and saw that the transfer of the _Écarlate_'s cargo to the _Pearl_ was going smoothly. It was a fine afternoon for it, sunny and not too warm. He saluted Nell and she waved back, and made motions indicating she was going to go below for a time.

Then Jack appeared, doffed his hat to Nell, who was now waving with considerably more enthusiasm, and then turned to Bill, "There's a couple of passengers, according to the manifest, name of Pelletier. Let's go roust 'em out, see what they have for us."

They gathered a few Pearls and made their way to the deck below, where two small passenger cabins had been installed below the Great Cabin. One proved empty, save for some rather elegant furnishings, and Jack set a couple of the men to clearing it. The other, however, contained the Pelletiers.

Bill followed Jack's lead and sheathed his sword, though the lads backing them did not. But Monsieur Pelletier wasn't giving an inch. "Keep away, you villains!" he roared, but his old voice cracked and he looked extremely agitated, almost ill. Brandishing a very pretty bejeweled dress sword, he stood protecting his spouse, a tall, plump woman, with starting eyes and a severely aquiline nose, who was clutching a monstrous, longhaired cat to her bosom.

"Now, now," said Jack, moving forward, and then continued in French. But Monsieur, suddenly seized by some fit, began to shake and fell to his knees, sagging against the bed, and Madame began to shriek. The cat, terrified into action, yowled and struggled, clawing madly, and Madame, screeching still louder, threw the animal at Jack's head.

Jack gave a yell and roared gallic curses as he caught the cat and more or less subdued it. It left its mark, though, a wicked red scratch high on his cheek.

His good humor was fair shredded as well.

"Here!"

He thrust the cat at Bill. Fortunately there was a blanket to hand. Bill grabbed it and bundled up the proffered feline, quick as a wink.

Jack continued to address Bill as he turned back to the Pelletiers. "We've been needin' a ship's cat on the _Pearl_. You run off now, Mr. Turner, and present that to our new cabin boy _with my compliments_."

And madame's eyes bulged as Jack drew his sword.

**_TBC_**


	48. Mothers

**48 – Mothers – 600 **

Nell had cooled off in the cabin (really, her skin would be brown as Jack's by the time they reached England, if she didn't take care), and was just about to return to the afterdeck under the protection of a wide-brimmed straw hat she had found when there came a knock on the door. She opened it and Bootstrap Bill walked in with a sack made from a blanket, and from the way it moved it appeared there was something alive inside!

"Oh, what is it?" She rather nonsensically imagined it must be something horrid, like the iguana she'd once seen Claypool's men toting off in a sack to be cooked and eaten.

"Close the door and stand back!" said Bill, with a grin.

She did, and stayed by the door in case she needed to make a quick escape. But Bill set the blanket down and spread it, and a huge, beautiful gray cat emerged, darting off the blanket, but then halting on Jack's Turkey carpet. It gave itself a little shivery shake, looked around briefly, and then sat down and placidly began to groom itself.

"Oh! Where did you get her? Or is it a him?"

"It's a her – the woman who threw her at Jack's head called out for her _petite Giselle_ as I was removing her."

"Threw her!"

"Aye. Wounded with a cat, b'gad, caught him a good one right here." Bill placed a finger on his cheek, just under his eye.

"Is he all right?" Nell asked, quite appalled on both Jack and Giselle's account.

"He'll be fine. Jack said Giselle's yours, with his compliments. She can keep you company while we finish up."

"How much longer will you be?"

"Well, it's a big haul, so maybe a couple of hours. There'll be a grand old hooley tonight to celebrate." He winked, gave her a brief salute, and was gone.

Nell put away her hat and went to crouch beside Giselle. The creature sniffed Nell's hand delicately, then allowed herself to be petted.

"_Ah, Giselle! __Je vous__très beau!_" Nell told her, vastly pleased with Jack's gift.

She was not pleased when Jack and Bill came in two hours later and she saw the claw mark on Jack's cheek. "You have not even cleaned it!"

"You can help with that. But first…." Jack opened the chest that Nell knew contained physick of various kinds, carefully searched, and found what he was looking for. "Jesuit's Bark. Just the thing for Pelletier's ague."

"D'you think he'll take it?" Bill asked, worriedly. "I mean, coming from us nasty pirates an' all?"

"Hope so," Jack shrugged. He went to the table, sat down, and quickly composed a note. "Give the bark to Récamier with this." He folded the note and handed it to Bill. "Monsieur might be willing to listen to him."

Bill left to carry out the task, and Jack turned to Nell, who was sitting on the bed with Giselle beside her. "You liked your gift then?" He got to his feet and slowly walked over, reaching into his pocket.

Giselle eyed him warily, jumped down and retired under the bed.

"She's a lovely cat," said Nell, "but she doesn't seem to like you."

"I'm not much for cats," he admitted, sitting down in the spot Giselle had vacated. "Hold out your hands."

She obeyed with alacrity, more confident now of _nice_ surprises, and her courage was rewarded with a spill of sparkling jewelry set with diamonds, sapphires, emeralds and pearls. "Did they belong to Giselle's _maman_?"

"They did. So now they should be yours, _n'est-ce pas_?"

_**TBC**_


	49. Fathers

**49 – Fathers – 550**

Nell looked up at Jack. "These are worth a fortune! Won't your men object to me having them?"

"They won't know, will they? Just keep 'em out of sight and you'll have some baubles to wear when you're home and ready to go into society. Or you can sell them, if you find you need the money."

Concern for him, and a slight regret for Madame's losses that she hardly liked to mention in view of his probable reaction, were overwhelmed by wonder at his generosity, and the thought behind it. "What kind of pirate are you?" she asked—not him, but the ambient air. And immediately flushed, realizing he might take offense.

But he did not. Instead, his charming, crooked smile appeared, and he bent to kiss her, a brush of his lips against hers.

Not enough. Not at all!

She dropped the jewelry on the bed and reached for him, giving a sigh of pure joy as she was gathered close and kissed. Properly.

Or _im_properly.

When he broke it off, his breath was coming short, and the smile was gone from his lips, if not quite from his eyes. He said, "P'rhaps I'm the kind of pirate who lures innocent chits to my bed through bribery, leaving them ruined and heartbroken."

As she took in the sense of this, her feeling of dazed, heart-pounding elation turned to a flame of indignation. "Rubbish!" She rose and stood over him, and said, "You are not, and I'm not. Lured, I mean. And I refuse to be heartbroken, or ruined!"

"Nell, Nell, Nell," he said, half-laughing, and he pulled her around and set her on his knee.

She put her arms loosely about his neck and kissed his lips, smiling.

He asked her, "Do you know what I want to do with you? Do you have the least notion?"

"Well, yes." She sat up very straight, and she could feel her color rising but went on anyway. It was time to tell him the truth. "You wish to bed me. I know more than I probably should about it, not only from my weeks in Tortuga, but from my father's books."

"Books?" Jack arched an inquiring brow.

"Yes. Father died when I was eleven, of course, but he was an historian and natural philosopher and he had a collection of books. From foreign parts, India and the like. They are in an attic at my Grandmother's house. I've often looked at them, studying the… the pictures. As well as the texts." She could tell from his expression that he knew exactly the sort of books she was talking about. "I saw a few volumes on your own shelves that are remarkably similar."

For a long moment they stared at one another, and then, faint but clear, the sound of piping came to their ears, a sweet, gay tune that refreshed the mind and raised the heart.

"That means our work's nearly done here," said Jack. "I've got to go out and play the captain." He raised a hand and brushed her hair back, behind her ear, and then kissed her again, briefly, before saying, "I'll not ruin you, but it may be a close run thing, considering our mutual taste for _study_." And the charming, crooked grin reappeared once more.

_**TBC**_


	50. Rib

**50 – Rib – 350**

Before he left, Nell gently cleaned Jack's scratched cheek with rum, which made him hiss between his teeth.

"Bloody cat," he muttered.

"She must have been frightened to death!" Nell protested.

"No excuse," Jack grumped, then straightened his coat, put on his hat (which he had taken off to kiss her), and took his leave.

The piping was presently joined by a guitar and voices, and Nell came out to listen and watch the activity, accompanied by a wary Giselle. The cat showed no desire to leave her side, with the deck alive with men at their various tasks. The two sat on a step of the companionway until the _Pearl_ began to sail off with a blaze of sunset over the taffrail. Then Nell rose and made her way across the deck and down to the galley, Giselle close on her heels.

"Why, it's a cat!" Cook exclaimed.

"Do you mind?" asked Nell. "Jack got her from the _Écarlate _and gave her to me. I thought she might need water, or something to eat."

"Don't mind at all," Cook said, cheerfully, filling a saucer of fine china with a dipper of fresh water. "Captain's not o'er fond of cats, she surprised me is all. I like 'em, meself. Keep the rats and mice down, though this one don't look hungry enough to want to hunt."

"Oh, I'm sure she'll do her duty when she's more used to the ship. She's not really fat, it's mostly fur."

"Is it?" Cook said, setting the dish on the floor. Giselle approached, sniffed, and deigned to lap some water. Cook petted her, his rough hands catching in her soft fur. Apparently recognizing him as a friend, Giselle butted her head against his arm. "Flirtatious lass," Cook chuckled. "You're right, Miss Nell. Not much padding on those ribs. She's a young 'un, if I don't mistake matters. We'll welcome her aboard with some of this fresh fish we caught this afternoon. I was savin' it for the captain's table, but what 'e don't know won't hurt 'im." And he gave Nell a conspiratorial wink.

**_TBC_**


	51. Music

**51 – Music – 650**

The pipe and guitar had been joined by a fiddle and drums by the time supper was ready to be served out, and the music continued as night fell and the _Black Pearl_ sailed on, steady under courses and topsails.

"With this weather and the fine haul we had off that Frenchie, this'll go on for hours," said Cook. "The crew's in rare trim and no mistake. You stick close to Jack, or better yet watch from behind the companionway, so you can make a fast retreat into the Great Cabin at need. You never know what daft notion a pirate'll take into his head on a night like this, any pirate, the captain included."

Nell rather liked Jack's daft notions, but she soon saw the wisdom of clandestine observation. Supper had been served out in a very casual manner, accompanied by vast quantities of beer and grog. These milder libations gave way to bottles of straight rum, and the celebration grew louder and livelier as the moon rose and the evening progressed. The drums beat, the fiddle screeched (or occasionally sang with a surprising sweetness, as did the guitar), and the piper knew a seemingly infinite number of tunes that set Nell's feet to tapping. The men didn't bother to resist and danced singly, in pairs, and in groups, to the loud applause of their fellows.

There were songs and stories too, both running the gamut from bawdy to sentimental.

"You'll learn a lot about the lads listening to 'em on nights like this," said Jack. He'd slipped around behind the companionway to join her and now he handed her the wide-bottomed bottle he was holding. "Try it!"

She took a sip, coughing a little as the rum burned its way down her throat. "It's good," she said, eyes watering a little, and grinned at his amusement.

"You're a game one, love," he said approvingly, and taking the bottle from her, he raised it to her in a toast.

She stayed watching a while longer, through a spate of dancing to the pounding beat of the drums alone. Jack joined in this, throwing aside his boots and coat, and then taking off his shirt, to her shocked delight. To be sure, there were many men bare-chested and gleaming in the light of the moon and torches, but none of them like their captain, not one came close to his perfection. He was trim and muscular, his bronzed skin marked with both exotic patterns of ink and with scars, and he was beautiful, there was no other word. Watching him, Nell felt both hot and cold at once, her entire inner being swept into the spirit of the dance with him, and when Giselle appeared and rubbed against her ankle, Nell nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Oh!" She bent and swept Giselle into her arms. The dance was ending. Jack took a bow to uproarious cheers, but Nell slipped away, into the Great Cabin, and closed the door.

Two minutes later, Jack came in.

She'd let Giselle down, but she'd been standing dazed in the middle of the room. Now she spun to face him. He was still half dressed, and after he dropped his clothes in a heap and secured the door, he turned and she saw that he looked solemn. She said, quickly, "I saw the dance."

"Ah!" His expression lightened. "What did you think?"

He walked slowly toward her, golden in the lamplight, and the closer he came the less coherent were her thoughts. "I don't know what to think," she said, stupidly, putting up her hands, aching to touch him.

But he took them in his own and kissed the fingers of each, and said, "Shall I show you, love?" And then, more hesitantly, "Do you trust me enough to give yourself over to me?"

Breathless, she managed just three words. "Yes. And yes."

**_TBC_**


	52. Magic

**52 – Magic – 550**

She noticed that his hands trembled slightly as he began to undress her, and she gathered them up, stopping him, and kissed his fingers, as he had just done for her. Her heart was full joy, and of the warmest affection, but she tried not to smile as she asked, "Are you afraid?"

He gave a short, desperate-sounding laugh, but then said, quite seriously, "I won't ruin you."

"You keep telling me that," Nell observed. "But perhaps it's I who'll ruin you."

A gleam of humor appeared. "God send!"

After that his hands were steadier, though no less slow and careful, and her trust in him grew apace. She fought the quite natural, maidenly urge to cover herself—her course was chosen, her fate decreed. But his gaze seemed a flame, scorching her without and within as she was revealed, and when he knelt, unfastened and let fall her loose breeches, his hands seemed to burn as he reverently took her hips, stilling her, and placed a tender kiss just above the scant curls.

"Jack," she whispered, feeling almost faint. She grabbed at his shoulders – so delightfully solid with wiry muscle – and urged him up. He let her go, and as he rose she stepped out of her breeches, kicked them away and faced him squarely. She marveled at her boldness, yet his expression urged it: wonder, admiration, and perhaps a little fear.

"My God, Nell," he said, rather hoarsely.

And then he gave an intriguing little gasp as she drew close and placed her own hands on his trim waist. She let them slip down, light over his belly, which caused him to jerk and give a startled laugh – ticklish, there! – but when she took the waistband of his breeches, he placed a hand over hers and she stopped and looked up, her eyes catching on the movement of his throat as he swallowed hard, before rising to meet his own.

"You've seen pictures in books," he said—and was that a flush on his cheeks? "But have you ever really seen a man… _aroused?_"

A few disturbing scenes flashed through her brain. "Tortuga," she admitted, trying not to wince.

Apparently she'd failed, for he gave a grim chuckle. "Of course Tortuga. All right, then."

He took his hand away. She fumbled with the buttons, accidentally grazing that which tented the soft fabric, and his reaction was so satisfactory that she did it again before she was through. His breeches were tighter than hers, and she had to take the fabric in hand to draw them off, but once they were down over his hips, and his sex released, she let them go and they pooled at his ankles. She stood back and stared while he toed them off and shoved them aside.

He studied her, warily. "Still all right?"

She started to put out her hand, but hesitated and asked, "Does it hurt?"

He gave a shout of laughter and swooped, and she gave a small shriek as he scooped her up. "Shhhh!" he admonished, hugging her close, his voice stern though he was still laughing. "Don't exactly _hurt_, but remember when I said you'd be the death of me?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Well, this is the beginning of that," he told her, and carried her to his bed.

_**TBC**_


	53. Pirate King

**53 – Pirate King – 350**

It _had_ near killed him, Jack mused the next morning. But by God, he had done his best to teach her, slow and thorough, and the ultimate success of this careful tutelage had been a level of satisfaction that had not only _not ruined her_ but had quite astonished them both.

In short, she was fabulous! And so was he.

It'd near killed him to slip from her side into the cool morning air to dress, too, but he had to show at the proper time to avert suspicion – hopefully the music and general revelry, which had gone on long after they'd retired, had covered the few cries they'd failed to muffle. He couldn't help smiling, though, every time he glanced over at the bed, where she lay huddled beneath the covers, sleeping the sleep of the (at least temporarily) sated.

In truth, it was her curiosity and her willingness to please and be pleased that had made the encounter so extraordinary. He had known a great many girls and women in his twenty-five years, in the biblical sense and otherwise, but Nell was something else altogether. She was an odd combination of worldliness and innocence, and he was drawn to that like silver and gold.

Not to mention she looked like a bloody goddess under those baggy clothes of hers. Not Venus. Psyche, perhaps. Very young and slender, and just a bit naughty, and lovely enough to tempt the blind bow-boy himself.

Gad's life, if he wasn't the luckiest man afloat!

Dressed now, Jack tiptoed over to the bed and crouched beside Nell, and drew the covers off, down to her waist. She woke with a groan, turning shameless onto her back, and blinked up at him until he briefly saluted her lips, each rose-tipped breast, and her perfect navel, at which she gasped, laughing.

"Come back to bed!" she said, trying to catch hold of him, but he slipped from her grasp.

"Tonight, sweeting. It's morning, and I'm due on deck, and so will you be, soon. Remember: mum's the word! Outside this cabin we're just good friends."

**_TBC_**


	54. Freedom

**54 – Freedom – 650**

The _Black Pearl_ now settled in for a long stretch of blue water sailing as she made her way across the Atlantic. They met no other ships, and only the occasional bout of messy weather broke the relative placidity of these weeks, yet no one was unhappy with this state of affairs. After nearly eighteen months prowling the Caribbean, during which they had taken no less than two-dozen prizes, the Pearls were ready for some "time out of time", as Jack called it.

The routine of shipboard life was not as strict as it would have been aboard a naval vessel, yet there was a set rhythm to the days. The ebon decks were holystoned, swabbed, and flogged dry first thing each morning in the cool light of dawn, after which breakfast was served. Then all hands were mustered to hear the daily report of the ship's progress and, occasionally, to determine and witness punishments. The latter was hardly a regular occurance on the _Pearl_, but Nell was thankful that Jack forbade her to attend "in consideration of the men's sensibilities". Several hours of "make and mend" followed, a time to clean, sew, paint, sharpen, or otherwise improve everything from sails to clothing to one's person to the _Pearl_ herself. Nell used this time to tidy Jack's cabin on most days, and he vowed he could readily grow accustomed to having things put in their proper order, though there were one or two times later in the voyage when he loudly refuted this, having searched high and low for some item Nell had stowed rather too well.

Nell helped Cook every day with dinner, served up in the early afternoon. Then there was time for rest before small arms and gunnery practice began. Jack let Bootstrap Bill take the lead in showing Nell the basics of swordplay and the use of knives, but Jack himself was the best shot on the _Pearl_. Nell didn't much like the noise engendered by firearms and cannon, but Jack insisted she must be broke of this and at least learn the care and use of a pistol. Her stubborn determination not to disappoint him, and his faith that she was a game one, each had their effect, and she was soon able to hit a target with a tolerable degree of accuracy.

She helped Cook at supper, too, and then was free to enjoy the evening. She learned several new card games, and how to "roll the bones" at Hazard, and if she was not quite a "sharp" by the end of the voyage, at least she was no longer a "flat". She absorbed the melodies and words of a great many songs and shanties and, under Jack's watchful eye, participated in some of the rollicking dances the men got up. But perhaps she was happiest when she retired early, safe in the Great Cabin with Giselle, with no need of dissembling and Jack's whole library of books at hand.

She loved every tome, but she was naturally drawn most to those illustrated books of the East in which sexual congress was viewed in a frank and flattering light. Extensive study and subsequent experimentation showed that making love was a skill like any other, and that frequent practice was essential to good health and full satisfaction.

Accordingly, when Jack retired for the evening, Nell would watch him bolt the door, dutifully "swing the hammock", strip in the glow of the lamp, and come to her, and she would welcome him eagerly. Mother, and even Father would have been horrified. That she was playing with fire she knew full well. But it was a _time out of time_, a dream from which they would soon wake, and it seemed criminal to deny either of them these golden nights of discovery, impossible to ignore the heat, the joy, the _love_ that flashed between them like lightning.

_**TBC**_


	55. Sea Shanties

**55 – Sea Shanties – 650**

_Her eyes are like two stars so bright,  
Mark well what I do say!  
Her eyes are like two stars so bright,  
Her face is fair, her step is light.  
I'll go no more a-roving with you, fair maid!_

_A-roving, a-roving, Since roving's been my ru-i-in,  
I'll go no more a-roving with you, fair maid!_

Jack went about the ship humming and whistling these days, possessed of a nearly unprecedented degree of contentment, though he was careful not to let on as to the exact cause. Nell's behavior, too, was as circumspect as he could wish outside the cabin, though the wanton color was apt to rise in her sun-kissed cheeks if he came upon her unannounced, so he studied never to do so. Yet he felt that all was well, and that their nocturnal adventures were unsuspected by the crew, until Bill cornered him in the cabin one afternoon, two weeks into the voyage.

"Captain, a word with you?" quoth Bill, with narrowed eyes, looking around, though there was nothing to see, Nell having freshened the cabin an hour since.

"Certainly, Mr. Turner," Jack said, and closed the door again.

Bill lowered his voice, but somehow that only made his words more scathing. "What the devil are you doing to that chit, Jack? And don't try to deny it – I've seen how she looks at you when she thinks no one's watching."

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Jack snapped, surprise giving an edge to his tone that he rarely used with his old friend.

"You bloody do! You're bedding her!"

"Am _not_, and you forget yourself. I told you she's under my protection, and I meant it, with everything that implies. Don't I swing a hammock every bloody night, while she takes her virginal repose?"

Bill stared, frowning. But then he said, "_Virginal _repose? You wouldn't lie about that?"

"I would not!" Jack averred, mentally wiping his brow.

"Hmmph." Bill was still eyeing him with considerable suspicion, but he said, "All right. But that ain't what Barbossa's been telling the lads."

Jack scowled dismissively. "Bloody Hector's a fool."

"That may be, but he's also got a following: Koehler, Twigg, Scratch, Pintel—the usual suspects. And he's talking."

"If I hear him insult Nell I'll have a grating rigged so fast—"

"That's just it, you won't hear it. You know how he works. So if there _is_ anything going on – and I know you said there ain't – but if there is, you'd do well to err on the side of caution."

That night, Jack tried to warn Nell, telling her of the conversation and something of the situation between himself and Barbossa, but he could sense her interest lay elsewhere.

"The book says you must lie upon your back and take your ease while I do this. It's a series of steps that if performed just so will _produce in the receptive consort_ _a_ _Divine Ecstasy_, or perhaps it is _Ecstasy of the Gods_, I'm not sure of the translation."

Jack dutifully complied, but, as she ran maddening light fingers down his body, he panted, "Nell, did you hear anything I said to you?"

"Yes, of course, I did. We need to be much more careful. But where is that vial of oil we used last night? I believe we may need it, if I am interpreting this picture correctly."

The vial of oil was found, _Divine Ecstasy_ eventually achieved, and the two took to barely speaking during day, and Nell doubly wary around Jack's first mate. Bill, his suspicions not quite laid to rest, reported that the strategy seemed to be working as far as Barbossa was concerned, and all seemed well – more than well – for the next month, until at last the _Black Pearl_ came within sight of the Canary Islands, in the fading light of a glorious sunset one evening in May.

_**TBC**_


	56. Isla de Muerta

**56 – Isla de Muerta – 525**

"_Captain!_ _Captain, wake up! It's Corsairs! We're being attacked!_"

The yelling and pounding on the door would have been sufficient, but the sound of guns and the shudder of the _Pearl_ as she was struck accompanied the summons and brought Jack leaping from the bed when mere seconds before he had been sound asleep with Nell in his arms.

"Get dressed!" he commanded her, doing so himself as quickly as possible. "_I'm coming!_" he shouted at the door, then told Nell, "Take a pistol and get down to the orlop and stay there. Damnation, where's the bloody watch, I'll have their hides! _Coming!_"

He was dressed, armed and out the door in perhaps half a minute, leaving Nell scrambling into her clothes.

More cannon fire and then an unholy wailing and shrieking from without. Nell ran to the cabin door, opened it, and to her horror saw that the Corsairs were boarding, that there was an enormous number of them, and that the Pearls were striving mightily to fight them off. She had every faith they would succeed—_Oh, they must!_ But there was no possibility of reaching the orlop in safety. She slammed and bolted the cabin door, gathered weapons she could use – pistols and a serviceable knife—and slid under the bed, where Giselle was already hiding.

The cat meowed loudly, and Nell caught her and pulled her close. For a few minutes the two of them huddled together, each taking comfort from the other as the clash and crash, roars and cries of hand to hand fighting grew close, and then closer.

There came an enormous thud against the door of the cabin. Again. _Again._ And a fourth time, and the doors burst open, Giselle yowled like a banshee, broke from Nell's clasp and raced past the huge, scimitar-wielding intruder and out into the night of black smoke and fire. Nell prayed she had not been seen as she scooted back as far as she could toward the bulkhead, but the boards creaked under a heavy tread, and a growling shout was her only warning before the curved blade of the scimitar slashed sideways beneath the bed. It only caught a bit of her hair, but she was wholly unable to stifle her shriek of fright.

Chuckling and gloating audibly, her attacker caught the edge of the bedframe with hairy, sausage-sized fingers and lifted it, and she was revealed.

He barked a harsh command, and she had no doubt of the translation: _Come out!_

She skittered sideways, keeping as far from him as possible, edging away in horror. He was enormous, twice Jack's size, with oily black hair pulled back from a scarred, leering face, no shirt on his sweating torso, and a long, bloody knife stuck in his waistband.

As soon as she was clear he let go of the bed and was headed toward her on his great, stumping legs even before it thudded to the floor. There was no time to think, she set her teeth and swung the pistol up, her hands trembling very little as she took aim at his laughing, ugly head and pulled the trigger.

_**TBC**_


	57. Tragedy

**57 – Tragedy – 500**

"Nell! _Nell!_"

No response.

Jack had found her insensible, limp and white, and he'd snatched her up and laid her on the bed. In mounting fear, he repeated the sharp summons and gently slapped her cheeks. Finally she breathed deep, grimacing. "There's my bonny wench," he muttered encouragingly. Her eyelids fluttered as he began to chafe her hands. Some color returned to her face. "What a bloodthirsty little hellcat you are, shoot the bastards soon as look at 'em, and save questions for later, eh, darlin'? Stap me if I ever saw the like."

The men who'd accompanied him were taking the corpse out, and unfortunately she saw. It wasn't pretty, and she gave a devastated cry.

"Don't bloody _look_ at it," he scolded, pulling her up and cradling her against his shoulder. "You did fine, there was nothing for it, lass, you did what you had to do." He held her close, rocking her as she wept.

Presently Ragetti came into the cabin, carrying a squirming Giselle. "Found her coming up from the hold, I think she was headed back here to Miss Nell, Cap'n."

"Sure she was, thank you, Ragetti," said Jack. "See love, the wee beastie is here for you."

Nell gathered herself a bit and accepted the cat. "Oh, yes, she was so frightened, the poor darling. I'm s-sorry I'm so stupid. I can't seem to stop crying."

"Captain, you're needed on deck," came Bill Turner's voice from the door with some urgency. "Barbossa's caught one of those boys that was on lookout and vows he'll flay the hide off 'im within the hour."

Jack swore, long and foul, mostly in foreign tongues, then said, "Nell, will you do? Giselle will stay, and all's safe now, give you my word."

"Yes, you must go!" Nell told him. "I'll be fine."

It was hours later, the black hour before dawn, when Jack was finally able to come to the cabin to comfort Nell again, and to take a short rest. Barbossa was put off for the moment, judgment of the lookouts having been postponed until the following day. The lock on Jack's cabin had been fixed, the blood and brains mopped up, and Nell lay small and shivering in his bed, Giselle nowhere in sight.

Jack stripped off his clothes and joined Nell under the covers, pulling her close against him, giving her his warmth and strength. She merely clung to him at first, but then their hands began to move over each other in the ways that were now so familiar – familiar, but with a difference. A desperate, reckless need altered their destination.

"No, sweeting," he whispered when he realized. But she would have none.

"Yes! Jack, please!" And she arched and opened beneath him, her hands catching him, drawing him to her.

It was unbearable; battle-weary and grieved, he bloody ached with it. His eyes closed, and his arms tightened around her. "No," he said again, but with less conviction.

"Yes!"

"Nell—"

"_Yes!_"

"Yes."

**_TBC_**


	58. Sickness

**58 – Sickness – 550 **

Only one fatality, but there were eight men wounded, and there'd be ten down in the sick bay after the agreed sentence was carried out on each of the lookouts, whose failure to take the job as seriously as needed had so lamentably coincided with the remarkable stealth and speed of the Corsairs' attack. Barbossa wanted the two keelhauled, but Jack overruled him, reckoning one death was enough this round. Sharks had been seen following the _Pearl_ since first light and the young miscreants wouldn't have a chance in Hades.

"A hundred lashes, then, if you're so squeamish," said Barbossa. "They'll live."

"Forty," Jack said, adamant, "and they're off the _Pearl_ at Shelmerston."

The crew agreed, all except Barbossa and his particular mates, and the sentence was carried out immediately, before all hands, save those who were too badly wounded. And Nell.

Jack hated flogging with a passion, but there was no choice here, not with culpability clear and Barbossa dogging his heels. And there was his own guilt, too. In some ways the failure was his. He'd hired those men. He should have been on deck, this close to land, instead of taking his ease with Nell.

Nell.

He set his face like stone and the crew took their lead from him. The only sounds were those of the sea and ship, the thud of his heart loud in his ears, and the cat being applied with vicious force by Bo'sun.

*

He saw Nell in passing a few times that day, and she'd seemed all right, somewhat pale and unsmiling, but who wasn't? The general mood began to lighten as repairs were affected, and in the afternoon the wind veered propitiously and began to carry the _Pearl_ north at a great rate. If it kept up (and Jack's weather-sense told him it might) they could be in England within the fortnight.

It was late when Jack retired to his cabin for a few hours shuteye, but Nell was awake, huddled by the gallery windows with Giselle beside her. The cat jumped down as he approached, and Nell stood, facing him squarely. Her eyes were red, she'd been crying. But she was not crying now.

Brave Nell. Foolish Nell.

He said nothing, just sat down on the window seat, pulled her close, and set her on his lap. She gave a small sigh and put her arms about him, and for a long time they were silent together.

Eventually, however, she did speak. "I'm sorry, Jack." And she looked up, and lifted a hand to caress his cheek.

"I'm sorry, too," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

That night they lay close and warm and, above all, _chaste_ in each others' arms, as they did for each of the next seven.

On the afternoon of the eighth day, Jack came to Nell where she stood by the rail, looking out over the sea. She said, quietly, "I've started my courses." The edge of her mouth quivered, and she brushed something from her eye before catching hold of the rail again.

He set his own hand next to hers, so close their fingers touched, and found it deeply unsettling that his relief, the only logical reaction to her words, was accompanied by a vague but perceptible sense of loss.

**_TBC_**


	59. Port

**59 – Port – 700**

Mary Turner sat before her mirror, brushing out her hair. What a day it had been, with Bill coming home so sudden and unexpected! Will had been over the moon, and no wonder, he'd almost forgot what his father looked like. The other boys had begun to tease him about it, for few of them had fathers who went to sea, though it was less than a day's ride from the village, and none for so long a time as Bill Turner.

Mary sighed. She hated lying to Will, but he was not to know the true nature of his father's work. They'd agreed on that when he was only a baby and Bill had first taken up with Captain Tobias. Or _been_ taken up, the ship he was on raided by the _Black Pearl_. Mary had been horrified when Bill had told her he'd prefer to stay on the _Pearl_, though Tobias would've released him. It was true that the money was much better, but… pirates! But Bill just said there were pirates and pirates, and the Pearls were the good sort, thanks to Tobias.

And now thanks to Jack Sparrow.

Who'd have thought that young limb of Satan would've made a good captain? Not she, for all love! The last time he'd been to visit with Bill he'd been far too full of sauce. Oh, he was polite enough, but Mary had seen the laughter behind his eyes as he plied her with smooth talk and provocative looks. Bill had just grinned and rolled his eyes, but Mary had been angry and let Bill know it, though little good had it done. Yet now, two years later, Bill had brought him back, and though he was still as handsome and clever as he could stare, there was a strange gravity beneath it all. Bill said being captain changed a man. Maybe so. But it was that girl Jack had brought, too, Mary would lay money on it. That Nell Smith.

Mary wondered what her real name was. There was no doubt she was gentlefolk. Appalled at the worn boy's clothing the girl wore, Mary had loaned her a dress straightaway. They were about the same height, and it had only needed a ribbon around Nell's slender middle to make the dress fit more the way it should. Mary had done up Nell's hair for her as well, and let her borrow some tortoiseshell pins. And when they'd come down the stairs, the _look_ on Jack Sparrow's face!

They'd all been gay enough at supper, Jack going to great lengths to keep Will entertained, the girl quietly conversable. Occasionally the talk would veer to a subject that would make Nell light up briefly, and that's when Mary could see why Jack was so taken with her.

But they were leaving on the morrow. Nell had family up north, a grandmother that would be glad to have her home, Jack said. Mary couldn't help wondering what sort of grandmother would be able to look on her grandchild's connection with Jack Sparrow with anything but the most extreme disapprobation. Two months on a pirate ship and no chaperone in sight? And anyone could see that there was more than friendship between them, though Bill had told her it wasn't so.

The bedroom door opened and Bill came in. Mary, a wife these ten years, found herself blushing like a girl as their eyes met in the mirror. "There's my love," he said, smiling devilishly. He closed and locked the door and crossed to her, and bent to put his arms around her.

She leaned back, completely happy. He kissed her temple, her cheek, and then, brushing her hair aside, her neck, even as he dexterously untied the thin ribbons over her bosom. She meant to scold as he slipped his hand within, but his caress changed her words to a soft gasp instead, and when his thumb brushed over her nipple as his lips met hers she could only moan into his mouth at the delicious ache he'd so easily evoked.

His fingers still at play, he watched her in the mirror. "Do you need me, Mary?"

"Always," she whispered. "Always!"

**_TBC_**


	60. Rebirth

**60 – Rebirth – 1875**

Nell could not help feeling more cheerful as they traveled north through a beautiful English countryside that was dressed in glorious Summer. As much as she had learned to love the sea, and the _Black Pearl_, and above all Jack Sparrow, this was home, this green and gentle land was what her heart had yearned for since she and her mother had set out with Harrison Claypool so many months ago.

The _Pearl_ had dropped anchor several days before at a port called Shelmerston, on the south coast of England. It was an abode of privateers and, occasionally, pirates, and if it was not Tortuga it certainly was not Bristol, the port from which Nell and her mother had taken ship. Jack had gone ashore the first day to make arrangements for the dispersal of the swag they'd taken off the _Écarlate_, and to arrange for the hire of a carriage and a "maid".

Nell had been most taken aback when he'd returned to the ship at dusk, smelling of spirits and perfume. He explained that it wasn't his fault, that the lass he'd thought to hire for Nell had been used to work as a lady's maid in an establishment devoted to the needs of gentlemen on shore leave. It had all come to nothing, since the maid had become one of the mistresses in the two years since he'd seen her, yet he had been remembered fondly by all and sundry and had been pressed to stay and pick up old threads, as it were.

This explanation of the matter had not recommended itself to Nell, for though she was a most practical girl and realized that Jack would not long remain faithful to her memory once she was gone, she could not help feeling he might have waited until she was at least off the ship before indulging his baser inclinations.

But he insisted he was blameless, "And I've the goods to prove it: three gifts for you." And he brought in an enormous basket full of flowers and fresh foods such as fruit, cream, and baked goods that she had not had this age, and another basket, a smaller but very beautiful one, designed for carrying Giselle.

"For she's yours, love," Jack said. "Don't think she'd much like the _Pearl_ with you gone."

Nell's sensibilities were much assuaged by these thoughtful offerings. "But what is the third gift?" she asked, and his reply, "Ah, darlin', the third's you and me, and our last night to ourselves, to do whatever you like,_" _melted her heart entirely.

Their feast, which lasted into the small hours, was indulgent, delicious, and appropriately seasoned with both laughter and tears.

There'd been more tears the following morning when she'd bid goodbye to the _Black Pearl_ and her crew. Cook, particularly, was much affected, and he embraced her heartily, then mopped his eyes with his apron. He also pressed a neatly wrapped packet into her hand – _Just some bits of fish that I dried, careful like, for that Giselle of yours_.

Nell would have wept more at leaving the _Pearl_, but Giselle, taking exception to being enclosed, carried, and then handed down to the waiting boat, set up an ungodly yowling which made Nell and everyone else laugh instead. So the crew's last view of Jack's erstwhile cabin boy was of her smiling and waving as the boat was rowed ashore, interspersed with periods of fond scolding and encouragement that she directed to the quivering basket beside her.

Jack had hired a carriage, in spite of the expense involved, and since Giselle became gradually more accustomed to her circumstances, the journey to the town where dwelt the family of William Turner was a pleasant one. They arrived in the late afternoon, and the joy of Bill's wife and son brought tears to Nell's eyes again. There was a little awkwardness when Mary Turner discovered that Jack's companion was a young female rather than the boy she looked, but the lady rose to the occasion, adjuring her son, a likely-looking lad of nine, to keep mum about the whole business and taking Nell upstairs to be suitably clothed and coiffed.

Nell and Giselle stayed in the Turners' spare room that night, trying to ignore the sounds of renewed marital bliss that could be so clearly heard through the thin walls. Jack stayed at the local inn, and did not return with the carriage until almost noon the next day, but when he arrived it was seen that he'd brought her more gifts: a strapping, red-faced girl named Ruth to be her maid, thus lending her the countenance due a lady, and a trunk stuffed full of clothing and personal items, everything she needed for a journey of several nights.

Jack kissed Mary's hand with pointed gallantry, directed Bill to rendezvous with him in Shelmerston a week hence, and ruffled young Will's hair and found a shilling, which he subsequently pressed into the boy's hand with a wink. Nell expressed her thanks to them all. Goodbyes were said, and they were off.

That had been three days before.

Now, though the shadows were growing long, they were driving through country that Nell recognized, passing landmarks she remembered. In a very short time she would be running up the stairs to embrace her grandmother. Tonight she would sleep in her own room, in her own bed.

*

Eleanor Carlisle was giving a quiet dinner party, just a few close friends: the Vicar and his sister Agnes, both of them the very soul of kindness; the worthy Squire Padgett and his even worthier wife; and Laurence Grayson, whom she'd known since before he was breeched, now a most presentable gentleman of thirty, whose intelligence and sense of humor were a constant delight to her. She had need of cheering, and still wore the black of deep mourning, for a month past a messenger had brought a letter to her from Harrison Claypool, telling of her daughter's death of some tropical malady and of her granddaughter's decision to stay with him on his plantation.

She had been grieved, but not surprised that her daughter had succumbed. Maria had never been blessed with a strong constitution. But Nell's purported decision disturbed Eleanor greatly. The girl had not liked Claypool, and might have stayed with her grandmother in England if she had not felt it to be her duty to accompany her mother to the Caribbean. No, it was far more than duty, of course. But now that Maria was gone, there was no reason Nell should not return to England, to all the advantages that were due to her as a member of the Carlisle family.

It was possible events had altered Nell's dislike of Claypool, and perhaps his plantation was truly the paradise he had described to them all. But Eleanor had a terrible premonition that something was very much amiss, and that Nell was not only motherless but in desperate trouble.

To this end, she had invited this small group of close friends, and she hoped to have the opportunity to ask their opinion of the matter, and perhaps enlist the aide of the adventurous Grayson. The young man had traveled extensively in pursuit of his avocation of natural philosophy – he and his father had both been colleagues of Nell's father – and the prospect of a voyage to the exotic Caribbean might tip the scales in Eleanor's favor.

They had retired to the drawing room for music, coffee and biscuits when the noise of an arrival drifted up the stairs. Eleanor paid no heed at first, but then sat bolt upright: had that been Nell's voice? It could not be, her brain must be fuddled from recent worry – but the voice sounded again, and Eleanor fairly leapt to her feet.

"Excuse me, but I must see who has arrived at such an hour," she told her guests distractedly, and hurried from the room.

At the top of the stairs she halted, looking down at the scene: three people had entered, a tall maidservant who hovered ill-at-ease by the door; a man of middle height and slim build, whose air of authority formed a strange contrast with his youth and appearance; and Nell. It was Nell who had been speaking with James the footman, Nell who, looking more grown up than Eleanor thought possible, had now seen her grandmother standing all agog and was hurrying up the stairs.

"My love!" Eleanor exclaimed, tears springing to her eyes, and she opened her arms wide.

Nell was laughing and crying both as she enfolded her grandmother in a warm embrace. "How happy I am to see you," she said, and for a long moment they merely held one another.

Presently Eleanor said, "My love, I was so worried. I had a letter from Mr. Claypool a month since. It said you wished to stay with him!"

"The dastard!" Nell said, indignantly, then noticed Eleanor's guests, who had come out of the drawing room now. "But I will tell you all about it later. Grandmother, I must introduce you to my friend and benefactor, Captain Wainfleet. I owe him a greater debt than I can ever hope to repay."

Eleanor was escorted down the stairs, Nell lending her a steadying hand, and when they reached the foyer, Nell made the introduction and Captain Wainfleet bowed gracefully. "Your servant, ma'am," he said. Or purred, was more the word. And when he straightened, Eleanor knew a moment of dismay. She had rarely in her long and varied life seen a young man as handsome—no, beautiful!—as this sea captain. And his eyes, when he turned them upon her grandchild… _oh, Nell!_

Something of her dismay must have shown on her face, for when he looked at her again his expression immediately became more guarded.

Eleanor said, "My granddaughter tells me we are greatly in your debt, Captain, and I cannot but agree since you have brought her to me in so timely a manner. I was about to solicit aid from my friends in her regard, for I have been concerned for her these many days, since I learned of my daughter's death."

"I'm sorry for your loss," said the captain, "but I assure you that returning Nell to your care is its own reward. She has… has become dear to me. To us all."

And here Nell took up the captain's hand, and the look that passed between them confirmed Eleanor's suspicions as surely as a more overt display would have done.

Eleanor said, a little coolly, "Will you come up to the drawing room and take your ease with us, Captain Wainfleet? I have a few guests only tonight, close friends from the village."

To her relief, Wainfleet declined. "I thank you for the invitation, but I must not stay. Nell knows I must not. Your man has unloaded her trunk by now, and much as it grieves me, I must bid you all adieu." He turned to Nell, and raised her hand to place a brief kiss upon it. "Farewell, Nell Carlisle."

A tear slipped down Nell's cheek, but she smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes. "God be with you, Captain… Wainfleet."

_**TBC**_


	61. Epilogue Stories

Thank you so much for following along, and my sincere gratitude to those who have reviewed the story!

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**Epilogue: Stories**

**1 - 550 words**

Jack was in a truly foul mood by the time he got back to Shelmerston, even though the return journey had gone more quickly. Not quick enough, though. The maidservant Ruth had to be delivered home, a two and a half day journey even at top speed, and she would chatter on like a magpie, exclaiming over everything from the flawless weather to her surprise at how very well-to-do was Nell's grandmother.

"I never saw the like! Why, you could have knocked me over with a feather when we rounded the bend and there was that big house at the end of the drive! Prime is what I call it. Some folk have all the luck."

Some folk did, it seemed. Nell's had certainly held true, for she had come out of her adventure mostly unscathed. Oh, he'd no doubt her grandmother suspected what had passed between them, but she didn't seem the sort to hold it against the lass. Probably held it against _him_, truth be told, but it was a moot point now. They'd all parted on the friendliest of terms, and she'd even called Jack back in at the last minute to write out a draft against her bank for him, "to cover expenses". Two hundred pounds. A goodly sum, though not a fortune. Still it would appease Barbossa's greed to a certain extent, and God knew what a problem _that_ could be.

After ridding himself of Ruth, he was left to accomplish the last leg of the journey in solitary state, affording him time for reflection that he found to be not altogether beneficial. Certainly he would recover, but there was no denying he'd taken a wound. Not mortal, but a very palpable hit, and over a chit of a girl, fool that he was.

He was in great need of a drink or five by the time he walked into the Rusty Goat by Shelmerston harbor and it was with real relief that he saw that Bill Turner was waiting for him at a table near the back, just as he'd asked. For the first time in days he smiled, in reply to Bill's greeting.

"No trouble, then?" Bill asked, and there was pity on his face, damn him.

"Not in the least. Grandmother welcomed her with open arms." And had even had a suitor waiting: Jack had seen how that fellow Grayson had looked at Nell, and Nell herself had introduced the man, an old family friend apparently. But that wasn't something Bill needed to know.

"That's good to hear," Bill said. "But listen Jack—and I'll wager this'll take your mind off Nell."

He bridled, but when Bootstrap told him of a crazy old Spaniard that'd come into this same tavern a few hours earlier, trying to sell a magic compass and information about the legendary treasure of Hernando Cortez, his ears pricked up.

Bill said, "He's tryin' to get back to Spain, wants two hundred pounds for the compass and the bearings. Isla de Muerta the place is called. Can't get more sinister than that, eh? Do you think there's anything to it?"

"Could be, could be," Jack mused. He'd heard about the legend. And two hundred pounds: exactly the amount of the draft in his pocket.

It almost seemed like fate.

*

**2 – 450 words**

Twins! Madame Pelletier was completely _aux anges_, the exigencies of the past three months entirely forgotten!

Well, not entirely.

Her daughter was recovering well from what must have been a most difficult lying in – _twins_, no less, and her mother unable to attend the birth. It was too, too bad. But now the girl was most anxious to hear her parents' tale of terror and woe on the high seas. Attacked by pirates! Everything stolen! The so beautiful Giselle abducted and forced to serve as a ship's cat on a filthy pirate vessel! It did not bear thinking of. Madame would not mention the vile threats to her own person, though indeed she had suffered from nervous palpitations for an entire fortnight following the incident.

"Your father was so brave in defending me, my dear! And this in spite of his illness, for he was suffering dreadfully from the ague, which is indigenous to Hispaniola. He would have routed them all if he had not succumbed to the malady at that moment."

"But Mama! Papa looks to be in the pink of health!"

Madame smiled. "It is very true. Captain Récamier it was that saw Papa's plight and brought him the cure from the chest of remedies that he had kept secreted from the pirates in his cabin. Jesuit's Bark it is called. One makes it into a tea, which is taken several times a day. It is most efficacious, your father began to feel better almost at once."

"Oh, bless the captain! That almost makes up for your terrible losses, for when one has health one has everything!"

"Very true, my love," Madame agreed. "I am almost ashamed to say that I miss some of my things. So much lost to those horrid men!"

Yet two days later, when a package was delivered to Madame, her transports were almost as great as those produced by her twin grandsons when it was found to contain the jewels that had been stolen from her on the ship, a beautiful collection, but more notable for sentimental than monetary value.

"There is no note, nothing to indicate who sent them. I cannot believe any of those dreadful men would have found it in him to restore them to me, though of course our direction was on each of the trunks they stole. But what other explanation can there be?"

"It is a great mystery, Mama, and I doubt it will ever be solved. You must say a prayer of thanks tonight, that the good God will bless the one who had a change of heart. But now come and look! Nurse says it is only wind, but I believe little Georges is _smiling!_"

*

**3 – 1500**

"Nell! They're here, darling!"

"So soon? I shall be down directly."

Nell rose from the chaise where she had been resting and almost immediately her maid entered the room.

"You'll not go down there without a shawl, ma'am," Jane said, firmly, and went to fetch her warmest wrap.

Nell rolled her eyes. Between her maid and her husband one would have thought she was an invalid. "Jane, I have never felt better in my life!" she protested.

But it was useless.

"There's an east wind blowing, and you know very well how the draft comes into that drawing room. Remember, you need to be wise for two now," Jane said, quite severely.

The truth of this was undeniable, and Nell submitted to being draped in the shawl, and even had the grace to say meekly, "Thank you, Jane," before leaving the room and walking with stately tread down the hall.

There was a mirror on the wall opposite the staircase and Nell caught a glimpse of her pregnant self reflected at full length and thought, _Oh, my goodness! What would Jack think of me now?_

It was very odd. Jack Sparrow was often in her thoughts lately, more than he had been for many months past.

It was now two years since Jack had delivered her home to her grandmother and sadly drove away, leaving her bereft. She had missed him dreadfully at first, though in company she had carried on with dogged stoicism. Unthinkable, and abominably ill-bred, to inflict one's melancholy on all and sundry! In private, however, it had been another matter, and Nell had shed many tears over the loss of her dear friend and lover. There would never be another like him. Never.

Yet over the next year it was gradually born in upon her that someone different would not necessarily be undesirable. With much stealthy encouragement from her grandmother, and against her own better judgment, she had fallen in love once more, and this time with a man she'd known most of her life: Laurence Grayson.

Laurie had been there that night and had seen Jack, and had even (she found out later) suspected she and Jack had been lovers. Yet almost from the moment of her return he'd set his sights on her and began to make up to her quite shamelessly. This was, of course, against her wishes, for she could never marry, she was most resolved on that point. She was no longer an innocent maid, and moreover it seemed as though her heart had been lost to Jack along with her maidenhead. Laurie's attentions had upset her extremely, particularly when she sensed that she had begun to return his regard.

It would not do. So she told him everything.

Well, not _everything_.

But most of it. And instead of washing his hands of her the absurd creature had begged her to marry him!

She had of course refused.

They had continued friends, or so she thought. But several months later, when he surprised her by asking again, she realized that her liking had altered to a much warmer sentiment, and she would be churlish to continue to refuse his suit on the grounds that she was no fit wife for him when he knew very well what she was and yet persisted in his fond adoration.

Accordingly, they were married and, after a honeymoon during which she discovered that her new spouse was also most happily conversant with Books of India, he brought her home to Linden Park, his estate that bordered on her grandmother's, and to a life of wedded bliss.

Now they awaited the birth of their first child, and Nell had never been happier. But certain things had recently brought Jack Sparrow much to mind. Perhaps it was her longing for sunshine and warmer weather. It was March, and winter was proving very tedious. Or perhaps it was the fact that Laurie's good friend, Weatherby Swann, had been appointed Governor of Jamaica and would be taking ship for that exotic isle in less than a week, along with his young daughter, Elizabeth. Nell had been wholly envious since she had heard of Swann's appointment.

Swann's daughter, however, was less happy and it was for this reason that she and her father were paying a visit today.

Swann had dined with them a few months ago and his prospective appointment had been a topic of discussion. The conversation had then drifted to the delights and trials of the entire West Indies. Nell had entered into this with some enthusiasm, for over the course of time the difficulties she had encountered during her sojourn had begun to fade into the background of memory, leaving the remainder bathed in a golden glow of sun, sea, and Jack's smile. She did not, of course, mention the latter except in remarking favorably on the agreeable nature of individuals she had encountered and the population in general, but she had been able to give more detailed praise of the region's natural history.

When Swann's appointment was confirmed, and little Elizabeth expressed her dissatisfaction, the indulgent father remembered Nell's account and asked her to speak to the child. Nell felt she could not refuse, and it had been arranged that the pair should come to dinner.

Now father and daughter were standing in the foyer as Nell descended the stairs, Swann elegantly dressed in puce velvet and gold lace, and Elizabeth prettily gowned and standing very straight as she looked up at Nell's husband, who was greeting her with his usual charm and the deference due a lady, which must gratify the child.

"But here is my wife coming to join us!" Laurie exclaimed, and hurried over to give Nell his arm down the remainder of the steps. "Nell, here is our friend, Governor Swann—"

"Indeed. How do you do, sir?" Nell smiled.

"Very well, I thank you," Swann said, bowing over her hand. "And you look charming this evening, my dear."

"You are too kind," Nell said, meaning it, for though there was another month before her lying in she was feeling somewhat unwieldy already. There would be no mounting to the _Pearl_'s fighting top in this state!

This facetious thought sent a warmth to her cheeks, even as her eyes met the wide ones of Elizabeth Swann. The doting father introduced them, and the girl sank in a creditable curtsey.

"I am so happy to finally meet you!" Nell told her. "Would you care to step upstairs to my rooms. We have an hour before dinner is served. I shall have tea brought up and we can be comfortable. My husband is most anxious to show your father our new greenhouse and his achievements in the cultivation of epiphytes and bromeliads, but I daresay you might prefer sitting warm by the fire, and meeting my beautiful French cat."

"Oh, yes, if you please!" said Elizabeth, glancing at her father and Nell's husband with a wondering, almost horrified expression.

A few minutes later, Elizabeth was seated in the blue wing chair petting Giselle, who had deigned to be held.

"She likes you," Nell said.

"I like her, too! Did you get her in Paris?"

"No. In the West Indies."

Elizabeth's face grew solemn. She said, after a moment, "We are going to live in Jamaica."

"I know," said Nell, gently. "You are so fortunate! It's a most beautiful place!"

"You've been there?"

"Yes, and to several other islands. I liked it immensely."

"Then why did you not stay?" Elizabeth asked, cocking her head like some curious bird.

A most intelligent bird.

Nell said, "I accompanied my mother to the islands, but she died, and I felt that it was my duty to return to England, to my grandmother. If circumstances had permitted… but alas, they did not."

"You would have stayed?"

"I might have done. I loved the islands, and the people. Some of them."

Elizabeth fell silent for a minute, continuing to stroke the cat. Presently she said, "Giselle is French?"

"Yes. Her previous owner was from France. But she was given to me by a pirate!"

"A _pirate!_" Elizabeth's eyes grew round. "You met a _pirate?_"

"I met a great many of them, as it happens," said Nell, smiling.

"Do you think I will meet any? What are they like?"

"It is possible you may meet a pirate. They are thick on the ground in some areas of the West Indies."

"Oh, tell me about them! Are they very wicked? But no: you said Giselle was a gift from one!"

"She was." Nell grew misty, remembering. She said to Elizabeth, "There are pirates and pirates. They are all different, every one of them, just as are other men. They come in all shapes and sizes, some wicked, others less so, though none are paragons of virtue. But there are a few that, though they would have you think otherwise, are kind and brave and true. _Good_ men. Very good men, indeed."

_**Finis!**_


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